


party 4 u

by marinstan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Clubbing, Disabled Character (not the main pairing), Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen from grace Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Harry being oblivious, Healing and soul-searching, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Past Child Abuse (not sexual and not graphic), Pining, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Top Harry Potter, mild jealousy, pansy/draco friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24963190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinstan/pseuds/marinstan
Summary: Draco isn't doing too well after the war. Harry is doing worse. Together, they might be doing okay.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/OC (briefly), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 54
Kudos: 241





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is totally inspired by Charli XCX's new album How I'm feeling now. The title is the name of one of the songs on it.

One thousand golden balloons, shimmering in the air, floating above our heads. Music – all his favourite songs – coming from everywhere and nowhere. Plush carperts are muffling steps that aren't there. I don't dare to move. Because what if I missed him walking in?

Champagne is sparkling. I spelled it so. If I hadn't, the sparkles might have been long gone already. „I love your flat,“ one of my guests says. One of his friends that I invited just for him. „It's so chic.“

I thank them, my eyes never leaving the door. Wide open.

My glass isn't empty yet. I don't want to be drunk.

My gaze wanders over to the cake I had made for him. A birthday cake, even though it's going to be August already if he doesn't show up soon.

If I had my way, there would be glitter all over the floor. He doesn't love shiny things like I do, so there is only a little bit of glitter on my face. Maybe some in my hair.

My suit is black, with a green tie. Because he likes that. Kinky bastard he is.

„Draco? Do you think we should...“ I don't look at the person shifting awkwardly next to me.

They're not my friend. All of them, they're not _my_ friends. But they are here, asking stupid questions, because it's not really my party, either.

It's his. I only threw this party for him.

„No,“ I say. „He'll be here.“

The first time I see Harry Potter after the trials, I save his life.

Not with any great spells or hexes (that's his forte, not mine), but by knitting his wrists back together after he cut them wide open.

It's really pure luck – the kind of luck that makes one think of fate. I don't believe in that, obviously. Believing in fate means not taking responsibilty for your actions. It means believing you can't change anything. And I refuse to believe that. If I did, I would have to follow Potter's example.

It was not even a full year after my trial and I was still doing my social services hours – that day, that meant bringing Mrs. Hopcirk her weekly groceries, because the woman can hardly get out of bed anymore. On good days, she greets me with a mug of disgusting tea, a smile on her face that makes all her wrinkles even more prominent. On bad days, she'll yell at me from the bed to get out of her house (it's a flat – don't flatter yourself, Mrs. Hopcirk).

I was walking back from her flat, head ducked and, for the thousandth time, cursing the fact that I wasn't allowed to apparate anymore, when I saw him.

He was just sitting there, on a bench in muggle London, his inivisibility cloak a glittering pile next to him. The way he had just put his cloak on display like that, so carelessly, rang all the alarm bells in my head.

Going against my first instinct – slinking away as fast as I could, praying he hadn't seen me – I approached him on quiet feet. He didn't see me, didn't hear me. His back turned to me.

I think about asking him why he has picked this atrocious place – a deserted quarter, not pretty at all. It's one of my many rat runs with which I'm hoping to evade the wizarding population of London.

He isn't moving, but there is a slight shake to his shoulders. I can hear him breathing and it sounds _wrong_.

Without thinking too much about it, I take another step forward. „Potter?“

His head lifts and turns. The moment I see his open mouth, the pale skin, I dart toward him, skirting the bench.

Upturned palms. Bloody fingers. So much blood – it's dripping on the ground, crimson red.

„What -“

I crouch down in front him, hitting my knees on the asphalt. Not even feeling it. I draw my wand and say: „Vulnera Sanentur.“

I'm not Severus – my magic isn't so strong, so certain. But Potter wasn't as thourough as he had been when he sliced my chest open in that flooded bathroom, so it's enough. The bloodflow slows. Then stops, as I repeat the incantation, trying to remember what Severus taught me – it feels like a life time ago.

Potter's skin knits back together. I keep on casting until nothing is left of his violence but two big, rosy scars, so tender, I'm afraid to touch them.

Potter is staring at me with those green eyes that I still dream of sometimes, dazed and shocked and... relieved? Astonished? It's hard to tell.

„What the fuck, Potter?“

There is his blood on my hands and it's somehow fitting, but at the same time, it feels so unfair.

„How did you find me?“ His voice is raspy.

I glare at him, heart pounding so fast. Harry Potter almost died, just now. He almost _killed himself_.

„I didn't _find_ you. I stumbled over you as I was going about my business.“

Potter is still blinking at me and I try to decide what to do. His skin is worryingly pale. I'm not a healer – what do you do after suffering a severe blood loss?

„I'll call Granger for you,“ I say, praying that the stupid muggle phone I purchased will _finally_ prove worth its money. And that Granger even has a phone. Not all witches and wizards do, even now, that most have agreed on how impractical owls are for quick messages. And not _everyone_ can cast a patronus at age thirteen.

 _Some_ never learn how to.

„No!“

Potter grabs my wirst, or tries to, at least. His fingers are weak and won't quite follow his command.

„ _Yes_ ,“ I say. Hesitate. „Do you have her number?“

Potter shakes his head. I give him a _don't-try-me_ look. „Yes you do, you stupid git.“

He shakes his head again.

I could try searching him for his phone, but feeling up Potter's crotch and arse might not be the best idea if I want to stay out of Azkaban and his phone will probably be locked anyway.

„Then I'll bring you to St. Mungo's.“

„No, please.“

My eyes meet his. I can't remember a single time Potter has said _Please_. Not to me.

„Why not?“

„I don't want anyone to know.“

It's not that surprising, I guess, even though...

„You don't want anyone to know, yet you thought you'd off yourself on a public bench?“

The Gryffindor fumbles. Tries for a glare. „It's not like they wouldn't have found me eventually if I did it in my flat. Also, Ron lives with me. So...“

Yes, I assume he's not that cruel. If still a lot crueler than I ever thought he could be.

But it's none of my business, so I just nod. „But what am I going to do with you now?“

It wasn't meant to come out sounding so small, but it does.

Potter shrugs, eyelids dropping. Suddenly, I'm so afraid he'll die, right here, right now.

„Potter,“ I hiss sharply and shake his shoulder. His head lifts, eyelids dragging down. He looks high.

„Alright,“ I say. „You're coming with me for the night. I'll obliviate you in the morning.“ It was a joke, mostly, but Potter nods as if he'd like that idea.

Getting Potter to my small flat isn't easy. I'm very, very glad I've never had a problem with Charms and can cast a strong levitation charm. With the help of that and Potter's cloak, I get him home, even though one muggle throws me a rather bewildered look, noticing the wand peeking out of the sleeve of my worn shirt.

Pansy usually works night shifts, which comes in rather handy now. I drop Potter onto my bed and spell his shoes off.

My plan was to leave him to it and curl up in Pansy's bed, but the second after I lie down, Potter makes a weird noise and I'm on my feet again, thinking he might be dying.

He's not, but I still can't bring myself to crawl back into bed. Instead, I pull one of our two plastic chairs next to the bed and watch Potter.

He wakes up in the night once, disoriented and scared. „It's alright, Potter,“ I say, tired, but my pumping heart quickly banishing the sleepiness.

Green eyes fixate on me in the dark. „Sorry to just... drop this on you.“

I'm not quite sure what he means with _this_. I think maybe just himself.

I shrug, feining indifference. Looking at him and wondering if he'll hex me when he wakes up the next time, back to his senses.

„Why?“ I ask.

His eyes flicker, a tightness around his mouth. „I just feel so fucking horrible every day.“

I sneer at him. „So does everyone else, Potter. You're not special.“

The Gryffindor frowns at me. „You don't know what it's like.“

My left eyebrow shoots up. „Being the Saviour of the whole fucking world? Always surrounded by your adoring fans, friends and family? No, I assume I don't know what it's like.“

He looks like a ghost. Not really angry at me. Well, perhaps a little.

„But it's not like that. I'm so fucking lonely, you have no idea.“

Something in my chest tightens painfully, a corset tied too tightly.

„I know you think you know who I am and that I should be so happy, but I'm not. You have no fucking idea who I am.“

I throw a measured gaze at him. „Maybe I don't. But I know that you're loved by a lot of people. And throwing that away is the most selfish thing anyone could do. You're not selfish, Potter.“

„I'm a liability, is what I am,“ he says, not looking at me.

Even though I don't want to, even though my insides are shrieking that Potter is a whiny, entitled bitch (and I am a hypocrite, yes, I _know_ , thank you very much), I can't deny the compassion rising in me. What he says isn't true, but I can see he believes it is. He truly believes it.

„You killed Voldemort,“ I say, not knowing what else I could say.

Potter laughs, a bitter, pained sound. Dark. A _dark_ sound. „Yeah, go me. But that was then. And now, huh? What now? There is no Voldemort to kill anymore.“

„If you don't think that's a good thing, then I'm seriously worried about your mental state.“

We lock eyes. A smile is playing around his lips. I blush.

„I just tried to kill myself, so I guess... it's valid you're worried.“

I give him a long look, then reach over him and pull the blanket up, tucking him in.

„I never thought I'd say this, but you think too much, Potter. The war is over. It's time to _live_.“

Potter leaves in the morning without us talking much more. I think he's embarrassed that I saw him like this.

That's probably why he doesn't comment on my ratty flat. Which is saying something, since there is _a lot_ to comment on. Like the mold peaking out behind the door. The wobbly table. The bathroom door that won't open fully because the toilet is in the way.

„Thanks, Malfoy,“ he says, not looking at me. Leaving without turning his head once.

I try to keep tabs on him the months afterwards, but that's difficult. Nearly impossible.

Our worlds aren't intertwined anymore like they used to be. They hardly even touch.

I catch a glimpse of him once as I cross Diagon Alley around Christmas Time, hood pulled deep into my face. He's with the Golden Trio, their hands full of too many shopping bags. I think he's smiling and I decide to believe he's doing better.

He's certainly alive and I can't help but be a little proud of myself.


	2. Chapter 1

I'm shopping for a birthday present, only a week after I turned twenty. The sun is shining on my skin and I'm  _stressed_ as I hurry down Diagon Alley, ignoring the people shouting after me, begging for my attention.

Ginny and I are having a birthday party for both of us at the night from the tenth to the eleventh. She'll be nineteen and while Ron said that's not such an important birthday ( _you really only need to worry when she'll turn twenty-one – I'm already sweating, honestly)_ , I feel like it is. Because it's the first birthday of hers we're celebrating together.

The first birthday since we got together again, only two months ago. Expectations are high.

I'm skirting a table at Quality Quidditch Supplies, unsurely eyeing a pair of dragon leather gloves, when I almost run into someone. Someone with fair hair and a drawling voice that I would recognize anywhere.

It's a miracle, really, that I only notice him now.

„Mr. Potter!“ That's the owner of the shop, standing behind the counter, his previously angry expression morphing into a plain obsequious one.

I nod in greeting, having a hard time tearing my eyes from Malfoy. Malfoy in run down clothes. Malfoy with his regal posture, his lifted chin, rocking grey trousers that don't fit him right. He  _makes_ them fit.

„Out, Malfoy,“ the owner spits before I can say anything. 

Malfoy's upper lip curls, his gaze slides off me. He turns to go, but before he can, I catch his wrist. „Don't leave because of me.“

Malfoy looks at me surprised. The eyes of the owner are the size of saucers.

„What are you looking for?“ I ask, heart in my throat. I have no idea how to talk to Malfoy, what about. If I should be throwing hexes instead.

All I know is, there is so much to talk about. So much ugly history, it fills the whole shop, the air heavy with it.

„A job, actually,“ Malfoy says, slowly pulling his wrist away.

„Ridiculous, obviously. My standards are _very_ high, only the best -“

I cut the owner's babbling off. „Brilliant idea.“ I smile at Malfoy, then turn to the owner, who is fidgeting with his cuffs. „Malfoy is an amazing Quidditch player. He knows a lot about brooms and everything. I'm sure he'll make a great addition to the staff, Mr. Dawson.“

The smile I flash him is bright and only dangerous if you make it so. Mr. Dawson is gaping at me. Faltering. „Well, I suppose...“

His gaze darts to Malfoy, who is looking bored.

„If you're sure...?“ He is looking at me again, apparently hoping I'll change my mind. 

„Totally sure, yeah. Malfoy's gonna be great.“

The Slytherin looks at me sideways. I just look at Dawson.

„Under these circumstances... You can start your probation tomorrow, Mr. Malfoy.“

„Execellent.“

Malfoy holds out his hand. Dawson hesitates. Then takes it and gives it a brief, but firm shake.

Malfoy leaves the shop, throwing me a long, suspicious look as he passes me.

After he is gone, I can't concentrate on Ginny's present anymore. Only minutes later, I burst out of the door, knowing Malfoy will probably be long gone already, but wanting to be sure.

„You didn't have to do that, you know.“

I spin around. Malfoy is leaning against the wall of the shop, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle over the other.

„I know.“

His blond hair is long at the top, shorter on the sides, gleaming in the sunlight. Despite the warm weather, his sleeves are long.

„Good. You don't owe me anything and I'm not a charity case.“

He's not quite angry, but somehow pissed at me. I frown. „It's not like I lied or anything.“

„You just forced this poor man to ruin his shop's reputation by employing me.“ Malfoy pushes off the wall and steps closer.

His eyes are searching my face.

„I didn't force anyone to do anything. I just... don't like predjudiced people, that's all.“

„Everyone is predjudiced, Potter.“

I roll my eyes. „There are different levels.“

Malfoy bows his head, in agreement, I assume.

A long silence is stretching out between us. „Well,“ Malfoy finally says. „I should get going.“

„Yeah,“ I say, but stay rooted in place, looking after the blond until I can't see him anymore.

I end up buying the gloves for Ginny. We celebrate our birthdays and George gets really drunk, Ron gets so touchy with Hermione that they have to leave early, and Ginny and I get the whole flat to ourselves.

Only two days later, I'm back at Quality Quidditch Supplies, not even pretending to need something.

I only want to talk to Malfoy.

I think that's legit, since the git saved my life.

He's organizing the shelf with the Snitches as I walk in, wearing the crisp white T-Shirt and brownish-red trousers all the employees are wearing.

He sees me the moment I enter.

„And what are you doing here, Potter?“ He doesn't look up from the Snitches, so I can sneak a good look at him. Slender as he always was, with calmer eyes, a softer mouth and deeper shadows rimming his eyes.

„I just wanted to, like, check on you.“

„Check on me.“

He taps his wand against the last boxed Snitch, flapping its wings angrily at being confined, and turns to me.

His gray gaze hits me unexpectedly.

„Yeah, um... how are you?“

A blond brow rises. Malfoy is almost as tall as me, but not quite.

„I'm fine, Potter. And you?“

Those last two words are said in a very strange tone. It's as if Malfoy couldn't decide whether he was going for sarcastic, bored, or genuine.

„I'm better,“ I say, Malfoy's face losing some of its edge at my words. „It was tough, but... I'm better now.“ I try for a grin and it comes out not too badly. „Seems like it's good for me to have you snap at me from time to time.“

As if it hasn't been a year.

A smile ghosts around Malfoy's pale lips. It's a new expression. One I didn't know before. „Of course it does. Someone has to make sure to deflate your big ego.“

I give him a mock glare and he grins. But I don't know what else to say, so awkward silence once again settles over us.

„Do you need Quidditch supplies, or are you just...“ Malfoy asks, hesitantly.

„Oh, no. I'm just here for you.“

We stare at each other. I'm sure I must be blushing. He certainly is. Somehow, the strange situation eases the tension.

Malfoy grins and dazes a Snitch with a flick of his wand, keeping it from exhausting itself by trying to lift the heavy metal box off the shelf. 

„Usually, you saying that would hint at a pending duel, but I trust you not to make me start a fight at my new work place.“

I grin back. „I wouldn't be too sure of that.“

„Is that a challenge, Potter?“

My smile grows even wider. „Always.“

I don't go back to Quality Quidditch Supplies for a whole week. Partly because I'm busy with Ginny and the final stages of my teacher training.

But mostly because I feel guilty.

Guilty for smiling with Malfoy. I don't know what came over me. It's  _Malfoy_ .

I look at Ginny and remember her in the Chambers of Secrets – where she ended up because of Lucius fucking Malfoy. I look at Hermione and remember Malfoy calling her mudblood. I look at Ron and remember him choking, foam around his mouth.

When I look in the mirror, I see my cut wrists and the blood flow slowing, as Draco's wand hovers over them.

It's an opressively hot late summer afternoon when I burst into the shop.

„Mr. Potter, can I help you with -“ I wave the pretty young witch away, beelining for Malfoy, who is looking startled in the midst of young kids fawning over the newest broom.

„Can I talk to you for a second?“

Without waiting for his answer, I drag Malfoy out of the shop, into the golden sunlight, then into the shadows behind the shop.

„Potter, I'm working. If you want to kill me, would you mind waiting until my shift is done?“

I can't tell if Malfoy is truly frightened or just confused. I walk him against the wall, not touching, but invading his personal space.

His face hardens. „What the  _fuck_ , Potter.“

„Do you still believe it?“ I ask, heart racing for some reason.

Malfoy frowns, irritated, worried eyes sweeping my face. „Believe what?“

„All that shit you used to spit at everyone. Do you still – Muggleborns? Do you really think they're less? Do you hate muggles? Did you care that you almost killed Ron and Katie during Sixth Year?“

Malfoy's face is white as china. „Alright, Potter. Let me breathe for a moment, would you?“

I step back so he can back off the wall and straighten his clothes without bumping into me.

„I don't believe in blood supremacy anymore,“ he says, careful. „I do believe that there are certain traditions and values that should be upheld and I do think that there is a difference between a pureblood and a muggleborn, simply by the way they were raised. I don't think purebloods are better. Just different.“

My lips are tight. Eyes on Malfoy.

„As for your friends – yes, I did care. I really... I'm sorry, deeply sorry, about putting them in danger while I was going after Dumbledore. I was desperate.“ He looks to the side, hair covering part of his eyes. „Voldemort was threatening to kill my mother. And me. I would have done anything to please him.“

He's defiant when he meets my eyes again. „I've never been as brave as you, Potter.“

„I'd do anything to protect the people I love, too,“ I say.

Malfoy shakes his head. „You do what is right first.“

I think about it and decide he's wrong. Memories of Sirius, of that horrible night, of Hermione warning me, surface. I swallow thickly. „No, I don't think that's true.“

Malfoy doesn't argue and doesn't ask, even though I can tell he wants to. „Why are we having this conversation right now?“ he asks instead.

I shrug. Go with the truth. „You saved my life and I really don't want to hold grudges anymore. When I felt like it was not even that hard to... forgive you, I got freaked out. I thought that maybe I was being too easy on you. Like that it's wrong.“

Malfoy's gaze is intimidating, somehow. „I can't tell you if it's wrong to forgive me,“ he says, voice tinged with sarcasm.

„Have you forgiven yourself?“

For a brief moment, I think Malfoy will hex me. Fire is coming out of his eyes at me, sizzling on my skin. 

Just as fast as it ignited, it vanished again, leaving his eyes more tired than before.

„Yes, Potter. I forgive myself. That doesn't mean there aren't a lot of things that I regret.“

„What do you regret?“

Malfoy looks to the side again, right hand slowly stroking over his left forearm. The forearm with the mark.

„I regret not questioning my parents beliefs earlier on. I regret taunting you and your friends, especially what I called Granger. I wish I would have been smart enough to find a way out of getting the mark, instead of talking myself into believing it would make me stronger if I had it. I already knew by then it wouldn't. But I was scared. I felt like I had no choice.“

„I mean, was there a choice?“

He's looking at me attentively. „There is always a choice. But unlike you, I'm not willing to sacrifice my life in order to be good. So, taking that into account... no, there wasn't a choice.“

I take him in. The boy that always made my blood boil.

But it's also the boy that refused to sell me out at the Manor (he knew  _exactly_ it was me – I could see it in his eyes. I think I could be burned from head to toe and he'd still know – just as I'd know it's him). The boy who stood up for his mother when anyone talked shit about her, the boy that couldn't kill, even though his life was on the line.

„Okay,“ I say.

Blond brows draw together. „Okay?“ he spits out. „That's all you have to say?“

„Okay, I forgive you. Let's call it truce. I just don't want to fight anymore.“

„We weren't even fighting anymore, Potter.“

I roll my eyes and step back a little more, so that he can leave if he wants to. „Whatever.“

Malfoy gives me a small smile. His whole face transforms when he asks me, quietly: „You're not... You don't want to kill yourself anymore, right?“

My heartbeat kicks into overdrive and I feel hot and cold. But all I do is shake my head. „No, I don't anymore.“

A truth I only ever told him, because no one else has ever asked.

* * *

Potter makes it a habit to stop by Quidditch Quality Supplies at least once a week. At first, I don't tell Pansy about it, because I'm afraid she'll freak.

That was a bad idea, since it results in me mentioning him offhandedly (it's astonishing, really, how dumb I am sometimes) and her almost killing me for not telling her sooner.

Sometimes, mostly when the shop is busy, Potter will only drop by for a couple minutes, looking at our newest products and chatting with me about the weather, before leaving again.

But more often, he comes around outside of rush hour and we'll talk for an hour, sometimes even more. Whenever he brings me coffee, I make sure to give him a compliment.

Over months of hanging out with him, Potter becomes Harry. 

While I only ever knew about Potter what I learned by observation and reading articles about him, I now get to know Harry the way Harry wants me to get to know him.

And even though I do believe my perception of him really wasn't all that bad, I also have to correct a lot of things I used to think about him, that now prove to be wrong.

„Help me with those fairy lights real quick, will you?“ I ask Harry when he stomps through the door on December first, heavy boots on his feet and two cups of steaming coffee in his hands.

„Sure.“ He shrugs off his coat and then steps next to me. Together, we spell way too many fairy lights into the shop window, making it seem glamourous for at least a month.

I only belatedly notice Harry smiling at me, as I smugly (and quite happily) regard our hands' work.

„What?“ I ask, giving him a wry smile, narrowing my eyes just slightly.

„You really like all those shiny things, don't you?“

I turn and walk backwards to the counter, eyebrows raised. „And what's wrong with that?“

Harry follows me and I hop on the counter while he leans against it, handing me one of the cups. „Nothing. I like some glitter, too, sometimes.“

I take a sip and burn my tongue, looking at him curiously. „You do?“

He shrugs, looking around in the shop. „Yeah. My Christmases as a child were always pretty lonely, so... I loved Hogwarts during Christmas Time. And the Burrow. All the lights, the stars, the food. And the people, of course.“

Something very tender is settling in my chest as I'm watching his profile, the reverent look in his eyes. „Except for the music. That's horrible,“ Harry says.

„What? You don't like Celestina Warbeck?“ I put a hand to my chest as if he had just shot me.

Harry's eyes widen. „You do?“

I burst out laughing. „No, definitely not. I mean, don't get me wrong,“ I lift the lid off the cup so the coffee will cool faster „I love me some Weird Sisters or... even muggle pop. But Celestina? That's torture.“

Harry grins. „Right? Molly loves her, so we have to listen to her howling all bloody night. It's... exhausting.“

I snicker and try not to think about my  _own_ Christmas – alone in the Manor with my mother, trying to pretend we wouldn't be mourning the loss of what we used to have.

„How did you celebrate Christmas when you were younger?“ Harry asks.

I look at my coffee, blowing on it, then wrapping my hands around the cup. „We've always had elaborate parties at the Manor. It was... quite fantastical. If you're a child and don't know what things the adults are talking about over firewhiskey and ciggars, at least.“

I cast a glance at Harry, wondering if this is a sensitive topic (my past usually is) and should rather be avoided, but he seems eager to hear more. „The Parkinsons were always the first family to arrive, because Pansy and I were best friends and Mrs. Parkinson and my mother bosom buddies for decades. Pansy and I would wear our prettiest clothes and spend the evening darting from one table to the other, eating lamb and goose with plum sauce and then stuffing ourselves with fruit covered in chocolate. Our parents would be busy and so no one could stop us calling for the elves three, four, five times, having them refill our plates with chocolate.“

Harry hums. „Sounds nice.“

„It was,“ I say, nostalgia overcoming me. „When we got older, we'd get drunk on champagne and punch and then we would go up to my room and -“

I blush. Trail off.

„And?“ Harry looks at me curiously.

„And watch muggle movies on the notebook Pansy sneaked from her older sister without her parents knowing.“

It's not a lie. We did do that, sometimes. But it's not all, not what we were always so excited for and what I needed to get drunk for first.

„I always thought that parties at your Manor would have been quite stiff and formal,“ Harry muses, taking a swig from his cup.

I flip my bangs back. „They could be. They all were, later on. But when I was younger, some were actually fun. At least with Pansy there.“

„What about your other friends? Didn't they attend them as well?“

„Sometimes, yes. But... they weren't really my friends. We just had to get along for our parents' sakes. Most of us didn't like each other much.“

I can see Harry absorbing my words. Finally, he says: „Christmas at the Burrow was always great, but before that... I'd spent it alone in a cupboard.“

He chugs the rest of his coffee as if it were alcohol and I'm sure I've misheard him. „Pardon me? What was that?“

He smiles at me and it has this dark edge, that I've last seen when he was sleeping in my bed, pale from blood loss.

I've gotten so used to awaiting Harry's visits with anticipation, smiling to myself the whole day when I know he'll come, I really didn't think it would be weird if he brought his girlfriend along.

I mean, why would it? Apart from the fact that the Weasleys don't really like me, of course. But I think I thought Harry would have mentioned me a time or two to her. Talked about me, even. I always talk about him to Pansy.

But apparently, he hasn't. Not really.

He strides in with Ginny Weasley's hand in his and my heart makes a weird skip. Not quite skipping one beat, no. But somehow, it's offbeat now.

Harry smiles at me, and it's the same, yet not the same as always. The Weaslette eyes me, not hostile, but definitely suspicious.

„How can I help you guys?“ I ask, blinking at Harry.

„I need new boots,“ the Weaslette says and Harry doesn't say anything and I feel strange as I show her to our collection of dragon leather boots.

Harry told me that she'll be touring with the Harpies next summer. She must be quite good if they want her.

She is picking out boots, asking Harry for his opinion, while I stand by and suddenly feel like an intruder, even though I  _work_ here. 

A pair of boots are dropped on the counter and I watch Harry putting a hand on Ginny's lower back as she pays and something inside of me churns.

It's strange. It's so strange, watching them.

When they turn to leave, Harry looks at me. Something in his eyes tells me I'm not the only one feeling how weird this is, even though it shouldn't be.

That makes me feel a tiny bit better.

The next time he's at the shop, something has changed. It's miniscule, not namable, but there. Thrumming in the air when he sits down on the counter next to me, my boss already gone.

„So, things with the Weaslette are good, I take it?“ I break the silence that has taken over us after we've exchanged our greetings.

It's not like we don't talk about Harry's girlfriend. We do, sometimes. Not very much though, I realize when I really think about it.

I also realize that this is mostly because I don't like it when we do.

„Oh, yeah. I mean... you know, there's always... stuff. But overall, it's going good.“

Harry smiles and I think it's just me, just me who is feeling out of synch.


	3. Chapter 2

Weeks pass and the feeling fades. I'm glad, because losing Harry's friendship is one of the worst things I could imagine to happen.

We always just meet at the shop, which I found weird in the beginning, but now accept as a given, a part of our strange and strangely wonderful connection.

It's a rainy day in March when Harry drops by with a thunderous expression on his face and damp hair. I'm busy with two customers and I'm a little afraid Harry might accidentally set the shop on fire while he's waiting.

The moment the two women I was giving advise on broom models are out the door, Harry is on me.

„How are you?“ he asks and I blink because his eyes are _intense_. When they get like this, so full of emotion, it's sometimes hard to breathe around him.

„Good. What's got your knickers in a twist?“

Harry opens his mouth, clearly preparing to start ranting, when Dawson appears. „Out with you, Malfoy, we're clos- Why, hello, Mr. Potter! So nice to see you here! Are you in need of something? Maybe a new -“

„No, sorry. We're leaving.“

Harry doesn't even throw Dawson a smile, just grabs my arm and drags me behind him. All I can do is give Dawson an apologetic look (that is, I am ninety percent sure, more smug than apologetic) and let myself be dragged into the rain.

„Salazar, Potter.“ I wrinkle my nose as I feel my clothes getting wet in record time. I cast an umbrella charm, holding my wand up so that the charm covers both of us.

Harry looks at me a bit sheepishly. „Oh, sorry. I didn't think of that.“

„Yes, you rarely do,“ I say and at his confused expression, I smirk and add: „Think, that is. You rarely think.“

Harry grins and nudges me with his elbow. „Bastard.“

„Unfortunately, I doubt it.“

That makes Harry's smile go softer, almost a little whistful, and he links our arms as we walk down the deserted street to the next bench.

Harry dries it with a flick of his wand and I try not to be impressed by his non-verbal magic. We sit down together and I wonder why we're out here in the rain, not somewhere warm inside.

The rain around us is blurring the world, smoothing out the sharp edges, dimming the light. We're alone in our bubble.

„What is it, Harry?“ I ask. The Gryffindor sighs.

„It's Ginny. We had a fight.“

„About?“

You can't exactly hear the raindrops hitting the charm, but I can almost feel it in my fingertips, tiny vibrations running up my arm.

„She doesn't want me to visit her when she's on tour,“ Harry says.

We're sitting so close together, our whole arms are brushing. If I'd lean in just a fraction, our knees would bump, thighs almost touching already.

„Why not?“

Harry rolls his eyes. His jaw is hard. He's upset. „She said something about not wanting to be distracted and that it would be too much of an effort on my end, but... that's crap and she knows it. She just – I think she sees it as, like,  _time off_ from her normal life. I respect that and understand that – I just didn't know it involved me, too.“

He's staring straight ahead. I brush the back of my hand holding my wand up between us against the back of his. He doesn't move it away, so now our hands are touching.

„You can't know that is what she really thinks.“

„Yeah, I do.“ Harry looks down, at his lap. „I want to give her space, you know? Ginny always needs a lot of that. I _know_ she does and I know it's not personal, but... I somehow, I don't know. Am bad at it. At giving her space.“

My knee leans against his. He presses his leg against mine, hip to ankle. I pretend my heart isn't pounding faster.

„It's alright not to want to be apart,“ I say.

„Not with Ginny,“ he says. „She doesn't want that kind of relationship. She needs her freedom.“

„And what do _you_ need?“ I move my hand up, over his, resting it on his thigh so that our arms are crossed, palm to palm. Harry opens my fingers with his, sliding them between mine. My wand is warm pressed between our palms, my magic rushing through both of us.

„To be sure,“ he says, voice so quiet I almost can't hear him. He clears his throat and tries again. I think we're both going to ignore the fact that we're holding hands. That's fine with me. It feels like something that doesn't have to be acknowledged. It just _is_. „I mean, I just want someone that makes me _sure_. That we'll always be together, you know?“

He laughs embarrassedly. „Jesus, that sounds so cheesy and needy. All I'm saying is... I need this  _always_ feeling. This feeling that, even if you fight and maybe fall apart for a while, that you'll find your way back to each other. You know what I mean?“

„Yes. Certainty. That's what love is to me.“

„Certainty?“

He's looking at me, but I'm looking at the rain, trying to formulate that feeling that is so hard to put into words. „This... bone-deep conviction that nothing could ever make you stop wanting to be with that person. And even if you can't be, even if you  _won't_ be, that you still... always have them on your mind. Not in that awful obsessed way. Just that you never forget them.“ And always feel warm when you think of them.   


I don't say that. I'm coming off sappy enough already.

But Harry doesn't seem to think it's sappy at all. He presses his leg harder against mine, his thumb stroking my hand. „Yeah. Yeah, that's love to me, too.“

„Tell me again why I wanted to become a teacher?“

Harry is walking straight up to the counter as I'm closing the register. I arch a brow, smiling at him.

„Because you're very good at it and, for some reason, find it to be satisfying.“

Harry sighs and takes a swig from the cup of tea on my counter. „Yeah, I guess that's true. It still sucks though.“

„Being locked into a room with a bunch of moody teenagers for three hours straight? Who would have thought.“

The Gryffindor throws a balled up paper at me. I dodge it, then summon it. „That could have been important, you imbecile!“

„It's just a receipt for a pair of gloves that has a bit of gum stuck to it. Probably not that important.“

„Eww.“

I make the receipt fly into the trash can and look around the shop. It seems ready for closing.

„What did you want to be?“ Harry asks, looking at me with this curious gaze that always makes me preen. It's so genuinely interested.

Not many people are actually interested in what you're doing and what you dream of, even if your name isn't Malfoy.

„You mean, what did I want to do for work when I still thought I could do just about anything I wanted?“

„Yeah.“

I sigh and skirt the counter, leaning against it next to Harry. „I always thought Healing sounds interesting, but it would have probably ended up being brewmaster or something similar. I'm just not very good with people.“

Harry looks at me from the side. When I turn my head, I'm shocked how close our faces are.

„I don't think you're not good with people.“

„Oh, I know I'm not. Do you have any idea how many people turn on their heels the moment they see me?“

Harry rolls his eyes and I know I should turn my head away now, because we're definitely too close. „That's only because, you know. Your past.“  


I don't know why, but that makes me laugh.  _My past_ . Said dismissively, like one would say:  _Oh, but that's just because you can't dance_ or  _because you like garlic a bit too much_ or something along those lines.

Harry smiles, an adorable expression of confusion on his face. „Why are you laughing?“

„You're way too sweet, Harry, do you know that?“

I'll never know if he does, because Harry's eyes darken and the breath is ripped from my lungs. I have just enough time to drop my gaze to his mouth, before he kisses me.

I make a tiny, rather embarrassing noise. His lips press against mine, warm and full and sure. I push back and his tongue flicks over my bottom lip. My mouth opens and he puts a hand to my jaw. Our tongues touch and I forget my name. I forget who he is and who I am, what we are and where we are. All I still know is  _us_ .

When he turns his body to me, his hands running down my sides to my waist, my own arms wrap around his neck, chests flush.

I couldn't tell you for how long we're kissing. Not even a rough estimate. All I know is that I'm in this sugar world of bliss, where nothing matters but our mouths moving together, our carressing hands. And the next moment, I leave this world as Harry pulls back.

Steps back. Drops his hands. Stares at me, frightened.

„Harry...“ I reach for him. He dodges my arms.

„Fuck,“ he says and I swallow. „Fuck, _fuck_.“

And with that, he turns and leaves the shop, leaves me with prickling lips and a semi-hard on. Leaves me with a burned down sugar world and off-balance.

* * *

I avoid Draco for two weeks, because I'm scared to see him again. I don't know what to say.

Thinking about kissing him evokes so many contradictory emotions in me that it feels like being torn in halfs.

Instead, I fight with Ginny every day and then have make-up sex with her. Which used to be great and now starts to become not so great anymore. We're both so resentful.

It's a relief to watch her go on tour, even though part of me knows that, while we could definitely use some time apart, two months are too long.

But it gives me the headspace to finally think about how I want to handle things with Draco. Draco, my former nemesis, life saver and now... friend. A really good friend. That I kissed and absolutely loved kissing.

It gives me headaches, thinking about it.

In theory, I've had enough time to think everything through when I finally show up at the shop again, in the end of April.

The moment I walk in, my eyes find Draco's and my body forgets how to breathe. A loose strand of hair is falling over Draco's eye. One button on his collar is undone. Only one. It reveals a hint of elegant collar bone.

I step closer, to the counter, and notice a tiny smudge of chocolate in the corner of his mouth. I don't know why it makes me feel like I'm suffocating.

„Hi,“ I say.

Draco slowly puts down his wand. His hands are restless, but the rest of him is very still. „Hi“

„Sorry I didn't show up for... a while.“

He tilts his head. Looks to the side. He's uncomfortable with whatever it is he's feeling right now. A bit ashamed.

I know his tells.

„Well, you're here now.“

„I am.“

Silence stretches between us. I'm not that late – the shop has still opened for twenty minutes. A customer could come in any moment. I almost wish they would. But no one does.

„Are you really going to make me ask?“ Draco sounds faintly annoyed.

„Ask what?“

The Slytherin frowns, but it's not an angry frown. It's a nervous one. „What are we going to do now?“

I bite my lip hard, then realize what I'm doing and stop. I shrug.

„You don't get to just _shrug_ , Harry.“

I run a hand through my hair, ripping out a few strands. „I know! I'm sorry, I...“

„You what?“

Draco's face almost breaks me. My heart is pumping.

I don't know what to say.

„It's not that complicated, Harry,“ he says quietly. 

The scent of broom polish and leather is strong today. Part of me knows I'll always associate the smell with Draco from now on. With us, in here.

„It's _fucking_ complicated,“ I say.

„ _Do you want us to be more than friends_ , is a yes-or-no question. Not that complicated.“

My heart is in my throat still. „Yeah.“

Draco waits. I wait.

„So?“ he asks, voice faintly choked. „What is it going to be?“

„Draco, I... I have a girlfriend.“ My voice isn't just faintly choked.

The Slytherin looks to the side. Looks at his hands. Nods. „Alright.“

„Alright what?“

I'm met with an impassive, yet slightly angry look. „Alright, we pretend it has never happened.“

„But... can we do that?“

Because I'm really not sure I can.  _Really_ not sure.

„It's that or never talk again. I don't care, Potter. It's your choice.“

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. „You don't mean that.“

Draco won't look at me, just shrugs. I finger the edge of the counter. „I want to be friends. I care.“

„Alright,“ Draco says.

I stay a few more moments, until it becomes clear that that's all he's going to say and that there absolutely no words left in my brain.

„I'll see you Wednesday,“ I say, because I can come here during my lunch break. Come here during my lunch break and pretend nothing has ever happened. Nothing has changed.

I wish it hadn't, but I know that's not true.

I think I'm surprised when Draco and I make it work. Part of me was sure that that was it.

But it's not. We're true to our word – we stay friends. I still drop by the shop, if a little less frequently than before. It's like we both always need a rather big recess after hanging out together.

It's still nice, talking to Draco.

We pick it up like we did before, telling each other little snippets out of our lives, making fun of each other and everyone else.

What's different though is that we don't go deep anymore – not the way we used to. I also don't talk to him about Ginny. It would feel too weird.

Even though there would be a lot to talk about. Fixing a relationship through letters isn't easy and for us, it seems impossible.

It's a beautiful June day when I walk into the shop in jeans and T-Shirt, a packed suitcase waiting for me at home.

Draco barely looks up from whatever it is he's scribbling, but he asks: „Did you bring ice cream again?“

I have to smile. I brought him some last week and for a couple minutes, we were like before. Harry and Draco pre-kiss – open and smiley and stupid.

„No, sorry. The line in front of Fortescue's is no joke.“

Draco sighs and finishes up his writing, then looks at me, small smile on his face. I rarely get big ones anymore.

„Finally summer break for your students as well?“ he asks.

Since I'm not teaching at a school, but private courses at home for Auror Trainees and homeschooled kids, holidays for me aren't as set as they are for most teachers, but break has now officially begun for me, too. It will end in July already, but that's fine with me.

„Yeah,“ I say. „I'm actually going on holiday with Ron and Hermione tomorrow.“

Draco just lifts an eyebrow. „That sounds nice. Where are you headed?“

„Italy,“ I say. „Because Ron really wants to see the ocean and Hermione feels like it's important for her to lean about the ancient romans.“

„Ah, yes. That is, of course, very important when working at the department for magical creatures.“ I grin. „Definitely.“

We're quiet for a moment. Then Draco asks: „For how long will you be gone?“

„A month, actually.“

„Alright.“

If we were pre-kiss, I'd tell him now that I'll miss him. Because I know I will.

But I don't, because... I don't even know. Because we don't do stuff like that anymore.

„Are you going somewhere during the summer?“

Draco wobbles his head, smoothing down his shirt. „I'm not sure yet. It's always quite tidious for me to get a trip approved by the Ministry. If anything, Pansy and I will probably visit France. Her family has a flat in Montpellier that wasn't taken from them after the war. Maybe we'll go there.“

„That sounds lovely.“

Draco gives me a skeptical look, smiling. „Lovely? Sounds like you don't know what to say about it.“

I grin sheepishly. „No, I really do think it sounds nice. I've never been to France. But I... feel bad that you can't travel that easily.“

Draco flaps his hand. „It's fine.“

„Well, then... I'll see you in a month?“

„Probably.“

We look at each other until it gets uncomfortable. Spontaniously, because I can't just  _leave_ , I reach over the counter and hug him.

I wasn't quite prepared for the feel of his fine, silky hair tickling my cheek, his pointy chin digging into my shoulder. The slender arms around me are strong and he smells like soap and summer and Draco.

I let him go again, knowing I'm already wading into risky waters.   
„Okay, I'll... I'll see you.“ I hope I'm not red in the face. I feel like I am.

„Have a great summer, Harry.“

* * *

Malfoys don't tan – we burn. That means I return from Montpellier to London with my shoulders still peeling, my hair, always fair, now really basically white and a relaxed smile on my face.

Pansy and I only went for a week (life really is so much harder if you have to work for your money), but we both really fucking needed that holiday.

Long, lazy days full of hot sunshine, cool water and salty skin merged into even longer nights, tasting like tequila and smoke, feeling like the fast beat of drums, like magic running through our veins. It's been a long time that I've had a taste of the sweet life and I savoured every single minute of it.

We ate out every day, trying French restaurants and the French version of Greek and Italien food, rubbing sunscreen into each other's backs and lounging around our flat in our underwear, sleeping through the hottest hours.

After seven days of going to bed at five in the morning and waking up around two in the afternoon, setting my alarm again is brutal.

It's also brutal to work in the heat of July, even though London doesn't compare to Montpellier, obviously.

Work days are slow, giving me a lot of time to hang around fanning myself and internally whining about my job.

„I've brought dinner,“ I shout as I walk into the flat after an especially dull day, feeling slightly gross with my sweaty armpits. Pansy is on me in a second, taking the Chinese takeaway out of my hands and pulling me inside. 

„I'm not working tonight,“ she says, sitting me down at the kitchen table, grinning. „So we're going out.“

I just lift a brow and reach for my food. „Sure.“

„We're going out and I'm going to do your face.“

My hand hovers in midair, the spring roll dangling between my fingers threatening to drip with grease. „What?“

„I'm going to put makeup on you. I know you want me to and I'm sick of waiting for you to overcome your masculinity issues. You're taking too long.“

I put the spring roll down. „You know I'm not going out with makeup on. I really don't need to give people another reasons to pick on me.“

Pansy opens a box of noodles. „You're looking at it the wrong way, darling. People are already staring at you. They already judge you. Wouldn't you rather be judged for wearing makeup than for being a former Death Eater?“

It's incredibly strange to leave the flat with makeup on. Despite that it's more subtle than anything Pansy painted on me before, I feel like everyone is staring, outrageous.

Makeup has always, always belonged inside four walls, for my whole life. I can't process the fact that I'm walking around with bronzer and eyeliner.

„Let's cause a scandal,“ Pansy says, basically bouncing in front of me, her sinful hips swaying. Not for the first time, I wonder if I should just marry her.

She's so fucking perfect, even though I hate her from time to time.

„Head high,“ she commands as we walk into the gay club she likes best.

It's a blessing, really, that Pansy is bi and therefore has no problem whatsoever to party at queer clubs with me. Not that she wouldn't do that if she was straight, I'm sure she would, but I know I'd feel compelled to switch it up. And I absolutely hate going to straight clubs. There are not many places that I feel so alien in. Which is really saying something.

The music is deafening, titillating. Pansy is flashing me a smirk, pulling me behind her to the bar. With the sky-high stilettos she's wearing, she's as tall as me.

„Two firewhiskeys,“ she orders. We throw back the shots, arms linked.

„Come dance with me,“ I say, smiling. She doesn't need to be told twice and I follow her to the dancefloor.

I'm sweating lightly when I get back to the bar and sit on one of the high stools. Pansy is grinding against a curvy brunet and from the looks of it, chances are I'll have the flat to myself tonight.

I don't notice the man two seats to my left until there is this slight tingle of someone staring at you. I turn my head and meet the bloke's gaze. He's cute, is my first thought.

Tall, taller than me, which is always a plus. A bit on the lanky side, but that's fine. His hair is dark and cropped short. A tight shirt is accentuating his lean muscles.

I make the sweep I give him obvious. He smiles at me and I return it, then concentrate on my drink.

As I expected (maybe hoped), the guy comes over.

„Is that seat taken?“

Up close, I notice that his eyes are a dazzling light brown, lighter than his skin, making for a nice contrast. „It is now.“

He grins and sits down. He's even taller than I thought. At least six five.

„Hey, I'm Brighton.“

I think it's sweet that he holds out his hand for me to shake. „Draco.“

If he somehow didn't recognize me, it's better to rip the bandage off now. Don't want to be called a cheat.

„You're really attractive,“ Brighton says. „Can I get you another drink?“

We order two vodka lemons (Why so surprised? I told you, no longer a blood supremacist. Muggle drinks are  _great_ ) and I like how enchanted Brighton seems with me from the get-go.

„So, Brighton. What do you do?“

Brighton takes a sip from his drink and I notice that he has very nice fingers, even though I'm not a huge fan of the tattoo on his arm. Seems like some sort of flower or something.

„I train owls, actually. Sometimes I help out the vets, too. What about you?“

I tell him about the shop and he listens attentively. Another plus point.

When our drinks are empty, he orders another two. In the following two hours, I learn that Brighton is a good listener and has a intriguing sense of humor, subtle and a bit weird, which I like. He has two younger sisters and is two years older than I am. I try for a bit of banter, but quickly realize that I offend Brighton with my little jabs.

„Can I walk you home?“ he asks when we're both pretty damn tipsy, our knees bumping together.

„Sure.“

It takes me a while to find Pansy, feeling up the brunet in a corner. As I expected, she won't be coming home tonight.

The night air is warm and smells a little like gas and vomit as Brighton and I step out of the club.

„This is the best kind of drunk,“ I say, slow smile on my face. „Not _really_ drunk, but... drunk.“

Brighton hums a little. „I don't usually drink, but... well, in a club, it's weird if you don't.“  
„I guess.“

Halfway to my flat, while we're talking about cats and why they are better than dogs, Brighton takes my hand. I slip my fingers through his and he's blushing.

„Do you want to come in?“ I ask when we've reached my flat and he nods, still a bit red, but definitely excited. „Don't expect too much,“ I warn him before leading him into the run-down flat.

„I think it's nice,“ Brighton says, eyes flickering over the furniture. The leaking tab.

I roll my eyes. „Liar.“

„No, really, I -“

I shut him up with a kiss. He makes a surprised noise, then responds. We're snogging until we're both hard and end up on my bed.

„Is that okay?“ he asks me as his hands wander to his waistband.   
„Yeah.“

Our pants come off, land on a pile next to the bed. I let Brighton wank me for a few minutes, fingers scratching over his scalp. As the heat is rising, I say: „I don't fuck on the first date.“

Immediately, Brighton pulls his hand away. „Sorry, I wasn't...“

I put his hands back on me. „Keep going. I just wanted to make that clear.“

He's still not continuing, eyes worried. „Yeah, totally, I didn't -“

I kiss him so he'll finally keep going and he does. I spill over his fingers and then slide down and suck him, ignoring him telling me three times that I  _really_ don't have to.

Of course I don't have to. I just love giving head.

And it's been a while – a  _while_ \- since I've had a man in my bed, so I won't let this opportunity pass.

We snuggle for a while after we've both come, my head on his bony chest, his hand stroking over my arm.

„Can you get home okay?“ I ask him when I start to get really drowsy.

He nods. „Yeah, no problem.“

I watch him dressing, smiling. He really is handsome. He closes his trousers, then looks at me. „I'd like to see you again, Draco. If you want that, too.“

I give him a smirk. „Sure. Just give me a call.“

* * *

The sun was more merciless in Italy, especially in Rome, but London's heat is getting to me more. Trapped between the high buildings, the air is stale and dry as I make my way through Diagon. Sweat is running down my back, pooling at the base of my spine and I don't even mind the way my heart is pounding.

I'm not sure what I'm going to say to Draco once I reach Quality Quidditch Supplies, but I know I  _will_ say  _something_ . Something along the lines of:  _I haven't witten to Ginny in two weeks – I think we'll break up._ Something like:  _I missed you. I'm thinking about you every fucking day_ .

A nervous, bright smile is spreading on my face. I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts.

I pretty much stumble through the door to the shop. There are two kids, a boy and a girl, staring at me in awe.

But I hardly notice them.

Draco is taking up all the space in the room and my heart jolts painfully. He's looking at me, standing in front of a shelf. His hair seems even lighter than usually. He tucked his shirt into his trousers, somehow making his clerk outfit high fashion.

I feel myself smiling. 

„Hi, Draco.“ I come closer and he smiles back.

I almost die when I notice that a couple of pale, hardly noticable freckles are dusting his nose and cheekbones. And that he's wearing some kind of make up – his eyes are rimmed with black, making the grey appear even more deadly.

„Harry.“ He smiles a me and I'm afraid. I don't know why or of what. But I'm so scared.

„You look good,“ I say. „Love the makeup thing.“

A faint blush appears on Draco's face, joining the freckles, but his smirk is confident and lovingly mocking me. „You mean the kajal?“

„Yeah, that.“

The smell of leather and broom polish is now mixed with sunscreen. And Draco's cologne, of course.

I breathe in deeply. „Man, I've missed this place.“

Draco's smile fades a little. His eyes are so big as he looks at me. So deep.

I swallow. Set it right. „You, I mean. I've missed you.“

Draco looks to the side. There is the tiniest frown on his forehead. My heart is pounding away and I think if it keeps going at that speed, I'll die way before my time. All beats used up.

„It's really nice to see you again,“ Draco says, which is not _quite_ what I hoped he'd say, but it's not bad either.

„Yeah, I was wondering,“ I say, hands twitchy. Eager to reach out. „Maybe we could go... grab some ice cream when your shift is over?“

„Actually, Harry...“

Draco can't finish that sentence, because the door to the shop opens again. I follow Draco's gaze to the man that enters.

He's around our age, ridiculously tall, rather thin, but well-proportioned. His hair is cropped and his skin dark.

One look at his clothing and I know his fashion sense is not only existing (unlike mine), but also  _good_ .

And he's smiling at Draco.

„Hey, babe.“

Draco smiles back, but it's a little nervous. When the bloke leans down and kisses Draco, my heart stops. Bile is gathering in my mouth.

They look good together. So good.

I think I'm going to throw up.

Only now, the guy notices me. His eyes widen and I notice how pretty they are – light brown, stark against his skin, almost goldish in the light.

„You're Harry Potter.“

_And you're six five, rocking skinny jeans like I never will and kissing Draco Malfoy._

„Yeah.“

Starstruck, the bloke is gawking at me, then looking at Draco. „I didn't know you guys are friends.“

My mouth hardens. „Didn't you?“

Draco sends a warning look my way and says: „Harry, that's Brighton.“

I force myself to nod at Brighton. He smiles guilessly.

I look at Draco again. I'm not sure what I'm searching his gaze for.

„Bright, do you mind going ahead? I'll be with you in ten minutes.“

_Bright_ nods and touches Draco's shoulder, then he's out of the shop and I'm alone with Draco. Aside the two kids and another employee, who is certainly listening in, but who cares.

„So,“ I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.

„So?“ Draco crosses his arms, staring at me out of slightly narrowed eyes.

„So, you and Brighton. That's a thing?“

Draco swallows, but doesn't look away. He brushes his bangs out of his face. They're longer now. I think Ginny would call this a pixie cut.

„Yes.“

„Are you together?“

Draco hesitates. „It's new. We haven't really... had the talk, you know. But I like him. And he seems pretty smitten with me, too, so...“

I think the moment he said it, he feels like it sounded arrogant, conceded, because he's blushing, scraping one of his sneakers over the floor.

„'Course he is.“

Draco stares at me as if trying to determine if I was being ironic. Which I wasn't.

„Well... he seems cute.“

„He is.“ He uncrosses his arms and pushes some boxes around on the shelf behind him. „And what about you? How's Ginny?“

Right. Smart bastard.

I have a girlfriend. I've had a girlfriend all this time. Who the hell do I think I am, getting all... acting so pissed?

I rub my face and force myself to let it go.

It's all good. Perfect, even. I can be happy to be seeing Draco again without making it complicated.

„She's good. I bet you she'll be the next shooting star in no time.“ I run a finger over the leather gloves on the table next to me. „But when it comes to our relationship... it's a bit rocky.“

Draco turns to me, eyes guarded. „Why is that?“

I shrug. „It's hard for me, all this long distance shit.“  _And I've been thinking about someone else_ . „And I think it bugs her. She doesn't like it when I'm needy.“

I smile, trying to hide my embarrassment. „I mean,  _I_ don't think I'm needy. I think Ginny needs a disproportional amount of privacy and freedom, but...“

Draco smiles, this small smile with sparkling eyes I really, really like. „Sure, Potter. That must be it.“

I'm smiling too, eyes widen to show my earnesty. „It is!“

We're sharing a moment of comfortable silence. Then I look up, traces of the smile still on my face. „I'm happy for you, Draco. Honestly. Brighton seems like a nice guy and if you're happy... I'm happy.“

To my own shock, I realize I'm not lying.

I mean, why would I be? Draco and I are friends. That one kiss... was a mistake.

Draco bows his head, looks at me with an expression I find hard to decipher. „Thanks. And I hope you can fix things with Ginny. She has always... stood by you.“

I want to ask him why he's saying that. How he knows.   


Before I can, Draco sighs and explains: „In our Seventh Year, when you were away, I had to... crucio her one time. I couldn't really do it. I mean, I  _did_ . But the curse didn't work. The Carrows later showed me how it's done, first-hand. For all their faults, their cruciatus... rivals Bellatrix's.“ He shakes his head as if to clear it and continues: „I used the opportunity though to spit some filth at her along the lines of you leaving her and everyone else and... I think I really was just angry at you myself because I thought you had pissed off.“ Draco rolls his eyes at himself, as if he couldn't believe his own stupidity. „Anyhow, she handed my arse to me.“ 

Draco lowers his gaze. „She always believed in you, Harry.“

I don't know why I'm in so much pain right now.

„I think I have to go,“ I say and Draco nods.

Not at all surprised.

„Harry, what..?“

Ginny laughs when I pick her up, drop her on the sofa and start kissing her, wild, sweet, mindless kisses all over her face and neck.

„I just missed my girlfriend,“ I say, grinning at her.

Something in her eyes softened. „I missed you, too, Harry. Even though I actually thought we'd  _talk_ .“

I push up on my arms, tilt my head as I look down at her. „Do you  _really_ think we should talk right now?“

She opens her mouth. Closes it on a grin. Grabs me and I let her flip us, straddle my lap.

„Come here,“ she says against my lips, smiling.

* * *

I don't see Harry much in July and August, mostly because he's busy with Ginny's birthday and his job.

I try not to mind, instead spending as much time as I can with Pansy and Brighton. Introducing the two of them had me almost throwing up with nerves.

I know that Pansy isn't easy to please and Brighton gets nervous when pushed into cold water. Taking both of that into account, I think it goes quite well. I can tell Pansy isn't impressed, but when we snuggle up under my blanket later that night, her petting my hair (because she knows I like that) she says: „He's quite handsome. A bit sweet, but... doesn't have to be a bad thing, does it?“

I'm so thankful that I buy her some chocolate the next day.


	4. Chapter 3

On the first of September, Diagon Alley is noticably less crowded than all summer. No brats running wild anymore.

I thought I'd be happy – and I  _am_ happy that I don't have to kick out disrespectful teenagers trying to steal key chains and insulting me, but I kind of miss the excited eleven-year-olds.

Dawson is handing me the keys the moment I step into the shop.

„You lock up, lad. I'm... busy today. Important business regarding the shop, you understand.“

„Yes, sir.“

I do understand. I understand that Dawson has obviously met someone and is now high-strung and bouncing around, desperate to impress them.

It might have been sweet if Dawson wasn't such a loser.

I'm only halfway through the day (and bored out of my mind – I polished the counter three times for a lack of anything better to do) when Harry drops by, looking a bit stressed, but also smiling.

He's carrying two cups of coffee and for the first time in a long time, I see him in a sweater. It's getting colder, summer slowly melting into fall.

„Hey, stranger.“ I'm smiling as he approaches.

„Yeah, work. And, Jesus. I'm pants at planning birthday parties.“ He pushes one cup over to me.

„I bet you are.“

I take a sip. Caramel latté. I trained him well, it seems.

„Was it a success in the end though?“

Harry sighs and wobbles his head, leaning against the counter. „I don't know. I think Ginny had fun, but... then she was also pissed.“

„Why was she pissed?“

Harry's face is dark as he shakes his head. „Don't ask. I have no idea. She just... always is, because it's me.“

„That makes no sense, Potter.“

I watch him out of the corner of my eye. How do I only now notice that there are deep circles under his eyes? He's not only tired, he's exhausted.

He shrugs, but that doesn't hide any of the tension he's holding between his shoulder blades, in his neck.

„I'm doing everything wrong,“ he says, looking at his coffee. Then up and shakes his head, rolling his eyes at me in a self-deprecating manner. „It's all good, really. I'll fix it.“

I take another swig from my coffee, then put it down and hop on the counter. Harry shuffles to the side to make room for me, but I catch his shoulder and arrange him between my knees.

„Draco?“

I start slow on his neck and shoulders. His surprised, pleased little sigh goes straight to my chest. I'm working my fingers into the hard, knotted muscles of his back, up and down his spine, as far as I can comfortably reach.

Harry doesn't really look it, but he's strong. You can feel it, if not see it on first glance.

„Maybe you shouldn't always look for the fault on your end,“ I say, kneeding his shoulders, sliding my hands up his neck. „Maybe she's making it hard, too.“

Harry doesn't say anything, so I keep on massaging him, feeling the knots loosen, some of the tension ease. Only when my fingers are aching, I smooth my palms over his shoulders. I catch myself as I move to lean down, to press a kiss to his neck.

We don't do that.

I pull back and give him a friendly pat on the back. He turns around and for a moment, he's standing between my knees, looking up at me and my heartbeat is kicking at the sight of his green eyes.

The blink of an eye later, he steps back and smiles crookedly. „Thanks. That was really... You're really good at that.“

I hop from the counter, hiding the shaky feeling in my body. „Pansy is a huge fan of massages. She likes to get them especially after shows.“

Harry leans his hip against the counter again and I mirror him, grabbing my cup with both hands and think of Brighton. Brighton, taking my hand on the street. Inviting me to dinner. Blowing me in the bathroom, shower running, so Pansy won't hear.

„She strips, doesn't she?“

I nod. It's a bit of a sore topic for Brighton. Not that he'd be disrespectful, but I believe he thinks of her as a victim, someone to pity. He's not the only one, so I'm a bit careful with it now.

„Is that fun?“ Harry doesn't sound patronizing or even mean.

I lift one shoulder and smile wryly. „She says it is. I think fashion designer would still be her preferred career choice, but she definitely likes stripping better than waiting tables.“

„Do you sometimes watch her shows?“ Harry asks, our elbows brushing as he lifts his cup to his lips.

„From time to time. Not that often. They're very late and... I do have to say, some of those men watching her really make me angry.“ I cock my head, remembering a couple of those thirsty losers in particular. „It's fun watching Pansy, if only because I'm so gay. Otherwise, I don't think I would.“

„Yeah, that might be weird,“ Harry agrees thoughtfully. He grimaces. „I'd never watch Hermione strip.“

I almost choke on my coffee. „I highly doubt Granger can strip.“

„I don't know and I don't want to.“

* * *

If Hermione is to be believed, Ginny's and my relationship had an expiration date tagged on it for quite a while now.

Deep down, I believe she's right – I do think that Ginny and I wouldn't have made it in front of the altar.  _Shouldn't_ have made it there.

But for all the ways I thought it might end (in the darkest hours, after another fight when we both went too far, saying things we shouldn't have said), this was not how I expected it.

Finding my girlfriend in bed with a friend of mine – another girl, on top of that – it's not what I thought would happen.

I think Luna is more upset than Ginny when I walk in on them, but I don't have any patience for her right now. She betrayed me, just like Ginny did, so I have no qualms kicking her out.

Ginny is standing in the middle of the living room, in the flat I used to share with Ron and now share with Ginny after he moved in with Hermoine.

I always loved this place. It was filled with good memories.

Now... I'm not sure I'll ever be able to walk into my bedroom without thinking of this. Of Ginny's head of red hair between Luna's legs.

No, I did not see this coming.

„What the fuck, Ginny,“ I yell at her, whole body shaking.

She's crying, but that doesn't rob her of her voice. „You know it was bad between us! It's been for so long!“

I have to pull back my magic, keep it from shattering the windows. „Oh, so that means cheating is okay?“

Ginny bites her trembling lip. „Haven't you? Be honest, Harry. Haven't you cheated on me? Because I  _know_ there was someone else. Maybe still is. I know, so don't lie to me now.“

I need a moment to recover from her flipping the tables on me like that. I mean, didn't  _I_ just found  _her_ in  _our_ bed with  _someone else_ ?

„I've never cheated on you,“ I say, throat dry. With quite an effort, I press out: „I kissed someone else. Six months ago and it was only that once. I chose you, Ginny.“

She wraps her arms around her body. New tears are rolling down her cheeks. „I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm really sorry.“

My chest implodes. Everything is crumbling around me. „Are you in love with her?“

Ginny takes a moment. Then nods.

I have to credit her for meeting my eyes. She's not a coward.

That doesn't change though that she just broke my heart. It doesn't matter if things were bad. It doesn't matter that we both felt it coming to an end and were just too scared to address it.

Because I  _did_ trust her. I always trusted her.

And now she betrayed me.

„Okay.“

„Harry, I'm really sorry. I meant to talk to you, I...“

I flinch away when she reaches out. She drops her arm, looking devastated. „I didn't mean to hurt you,“ she whispers.

I choke out a laugh. „Oh, great. Thanks, Gin. I'm feeling so much better now.“

I can't stand seeing her face anymore. „Please leave now.“

„Harry, I...“

„ _Now_.“

She doesn't protest. Just grabs some of her things, steps into her shoes and leaves me alone.

When the door is falling shut behind her, the windows finally shatter.

„Professor?“ Jenna is looking at me with concerned eyes, wand still raised.

Her hair is the same dark halo of frizzy curls around her head as always, but her gym clothes are a bit rumpled and there is a cut on her wand hand.

Cyrus, her opponent, is lowering his wand, wiping the sweat out of his eyes.

„Sorry, I...“

I'm hungover and unable to concentrate, but I'm not saying that. No need to. My students aren't idiots.

„One more time, please. And, Jenna, watch your wandwork. Cyrus – those legs need to be faster.“

The notes aren't new. I'm just hoping they still apply, since most students need quite a while to apply my corrections and really change their duelling style.

I force myself to pay attention this time. It's not fair to my students, using my teaching time to wallow in self-hatred. And anger. And misery and heartbreak and all those things that make me feel like... like someone that reminds me way too much of my nineteen-year-old self.

Jenna is like a shadow, quick on her feet and also quick-witted, while Cyrus makes up for his lack of speed by the force of his spells. Jenna has still trouble casting a shield strong enough to counter Cyrus's magic.

When Jenna manages to land a well-placed hex and Cyrus goes down, I blow my whistle and end the fight.

„Thanks, guys. Good work. Just keep in mind what I've told you and work on that at home.“

I put my whistle away. „I'll see you on Monday.“

Cyrus nods at me and bids me goodbye, eager to get out. But Jenna lingers around, doe eyes a little wary (those eyes are deceaving – she's fierce in the field).

„Yes, Jenna?“

She steps closer, pocketing her wand.

Unlike most of the older kids I train, she didn't come here because she's preparing for Auror training. Well, not originally at least. Her dad signed her up after she was attacked in the streets by some blood supremacists that apparently also had rather strong racist tendencies.

I was only teaching her basic Defense for two weeks when I spoke to her first, then to her parents, asking if she might want to be enrolled for Auror training.

She did, so here we are now.

„I just wanted to ask... are you alright, professor?“

I exhale. I know I've been a little bit off, but it must have been worse than I expected. I imagine it would take a student quite a bit before they'd ask their teacher if they're  _alright_ .

„Yes, thank you, Jenna. Just some private stuff. Nothing to worry about.“

So I say. I'm not that sure, to be honest.

Jenna nods, lingering for a moment. „Anything else?“ I ask friendly.

„Actually, yes. I was wondering... Do you think it might be possible to squeeze in an extra lesson or two?“

„For what, if I may ask?“

She straightens her spine and tugs on her sleeves. „I'm having quite a bit of trouble with the Patronus Charm. I'm aware that I should know it by now, but... I think a few of us have never really managed to cast one. They only touch on the subject in school and why I tried to teach myself, it didn't quite work.“

I blink. Apparently, teaching the DA back then wasn't enough to drive it home that most people don't have a Remus Lupin to give them private lessons on Patroni.

„You're absolutely right, Jenna. I totally forgot about that. I'll include it in the curriculum.“

She smiles in relief. I take a guess. „You are probably not the only one who was worried about this, right?“

Being able to cast a Patronus is a requirement to join the Aurorforce.

Jenna grins, even though she's trying to bite it back. Of course my students were all too scared to appear dumb to ask me about this.

„Tell the others that questions are always welcome.“

Jenna nods and smiles at me. „Thanks, professor.“  
  


I'm telling myself it's all fine. That I'm good – that Ginny and I weren't meant to be and I  _knew_ that. But I don't feel fine.

Suddenly, everything is... black again. It doesn't matter how often I reason that my life is good, that I shouldn't worry, that there is no reason to be so  _sad_ all the fucking time.

But fact is, there are days I barely make it out of bed.

Hermione keeps trying to encourage me to be active – she's dragging me to go shopping with her (for books, not clothes), have lunch with her and listen to ranting about her job. I tag along to make her happy, but all the time, I feel like screaming.

Something seems to be clawing at my insides and I don't know how to let it out. How to make it stop.

I'm in a jumper and sweatpants (November is really fucking cold this year), half a bottle of wine in, when Ron staggers out of my floo. He's brushing dust off his trousers.

„Um... did we make plans?“ I ask. I wouldn't put it past me to have forgotten about them, should they have existed. My memory isn't the best lately.

„Nah, I just thought I'd drop by.“

I scoot over to make room for Ron on the sofa and summon a bottle of firewhiskey.

We drink together, mostly silent. When we're both already more than tipsy, Ron asks: „How are you feeling, mate? Like, for real.“

I swallow thickly. Liquor is burning in my throat, warming me from the inside. But it's not enough. I'm still feeling cold.

„Honestly, not that great.“

Ron nods. „Yeah, I noticed. Wanna talk about it?“

I don't at first. Instead, we empty the bottle together until the room is spinning and I'm sloppy drunk.

„Just... I feel so _wrong_ , all the time. Like... I can't stand my skin. I just wanna be someone else.“

Ron drapes an arm around my shoulder. Squeezes.

„I don't understand it, like... What's going on? Ginny and I would have broken up eventually so it shouldn't be so bad and everything else – I'm just fucking confused. Why can't I just be happy? Why am I so... complicated?“

„Mate, you're human. We're all fucking complicated.“

I lean my head against Ron's shoulder, head swimming, body numb. „I feel like I'm always just bugging everyone.“

The arm around me tightens. „That's bullshit, Harry. You never bug me. Or Hermione. We love you, man.“

I  _know_ that. Rationally, I know it. But sometimes, I can't believe it. I just think they're lying to me to make me feel better. That they'll leave, eventually. Because they're tired of me. Because I'm such a fucking disappointment.

„Also... there was someone.“ I say it quietly.

Ron squeezes my shoulder. „Yeah?“

I try several times, but I can't get the words out. Maybe because I still don't understand it. What it is.

„It's just hard,“ I finally say. „It's hard and I feel like it shouldn't be, which makes it only harder.“

Ron nods as if he'd understand, even though no one could possibly.

After a long pause, he says: „Have you ever thought about maybe seeing a therapist, Harry? You know I used to think that would be like, overrated and useless, but... George has been seeing one for a while now and it really helped. Maybe you should try it, too.“

I won't lie – I've been avoiding Draco a bit.

Because I wanted to see him too much. And because I didn't want him to see me like this.

But today, I'm walking into the shop again, hands kind of numb from the cold as I open the door.

Draco's gaze finds me the moment I enter and I take a second to appreciate how good he looks with a blue scard draped around his neck and something glittery dusting his cheeks, eyes rimmed with black.  _Kajal_ .

„Um, hey.“ I'm a bit sheepish and I know he can tell.

„Hi. Didn't think I'd see you here again.“ He frowns at me. „Where have you been?“

„Not really anywhere?“

Draco's mouth curls. „Right. You just weren't in the mood, okay.“

I look away my heart is pounding.

„Two months, Potter. You don't just fucking disappear for two months, without a word, and think it'll be just fine!“

„I'm sorry.“ My voice is too quiet for his anger, filling the room. Hanging in the air. „I didn't mean to be rude.“

Draco snorts. Then he's silent. I don't know what he's thinking, because I don't look at him. Still.

„And why do you look like shit, Potter?“ His words a harsh, his voice is harsh. The undertone is soft.

I lift my shoulders. Drop them again. „Ginny cheated on me.“

A too long silence. „I'm sorry about that.“

Finally, I look up. It's not easy to meet his eyes, but I do it.

„Are you alright?“

I roll my eyes, not really knowing why. „Yeah, yeah. Honestly. I knew we weren't in a good place. I...“

I can't keep on talking. There are tears pressing against my eyeballs. I fight them back like I always do, but it's motherfucking difficult today.

„Hey. It's okay.“ Draco doesn't sound harsh at all anymore.

„I'm fine,“ I say.

„Hm. It's okay not to be fine, too.“

Stupid bastard makes the tears pressing harder, so hard, I almost have to let them fall.

„Harry, what's the matter?“

Draco so soft... it's hard to handle. For me. It's hard to handle having him looking at me like that.

„I don't even know. I just...“

I can't continue, or the tears will be falling. So I just stand there, shaking with tension, teeth grit.

Draco steps closer and wraps his arms around me, hands splayed out on my back. Holding me.

„It's okay. It'll be okay.“

With a shuddering exhale, my arms come around him and I bury my face in the crook of his neck. Draco is humming soothingly, hands carressing me.

I'm melting, dissolving in his arms. If I can just stay here forever, I'll be fine. I've never felt so... right.

Soft, barely there kisses are brushed on my cheek. „Don't worry, it will be okay,“ Draco murmurs and I nod into his neck, hoping he won't let go.

He doesn't. He's standing there, petting me and whispering reassurances that sound hollow when anyone else says them, but out of his mouth, they're everything.

Eventually though, Draco does let go. He lets go because Brighton walks into the shop, smiling. A little confused when he sees Draco and I so close together.

„Hey, babe,“ he says, because Draco is _babe_ to him. Draco is his and I need to get out now.

After a hasty goodbye, I try to vanish quickly, but Draco catches me before I'm out of the door. „Are you going to be alright?“ he asks, eyes darting over my face. „Do you want to talk? Maybe after my shift?“

I shake my head, listening to a pearl necklace ripping, pearls clattering over the floor, one by one.

„I think I'm going to need some time for myself,“ I say, not cruel at all.

Draco bites his lip. His grey eyes are suspiciously shiny. But he doesn't object.

I think he knows, like I know, without needing to put it into words.

As long as I don't, maybe it's not too late to salvage our friendship. 

Because I really, really love being friends with Draco. I don't want to lose it.

But if I don't, I'll have to tear the necklace now. Put it back together in a different order. Later, when I'm able to.

„I'll be here,“ Draco says.

Part of me thinks that's not true. It isn't even really true now.

But another part knows that it's the loudest truth he has ever spoken to me.

It takes me three attempts to make it to my first therapy session.

The very first time, I owl, make an appointment and never even leave my house that day. For the second time, I make it until right in front of the building, before my nerves get the best of me and I turn around, racing back to the apparition point.

But third time's the charm, because I find myself in a soft armchair, heart hammering, palms sweaty. My therapist is a black middle-aged witch, wearing a chic, but plain purple dress and kitten heels, huge glasses. Her hands are folded in her lap and while her smile is warm, it makes me nervous all the same.

„Hello, Harry,“ she says and I shift in my seat. „I'm Lydia.“

„Hi,“ I croak out. Where is my Gryffindor courage?

„Would you like to drink something?“

I shake my head. „No, thanks.“

„How are you today?“

I'm fumbling with some loose threads on my jeans. „Good. I mean – okay.“

Lydia waits, silent. I feel like I'm coming out of my skin.

„My girlfriend broke up with me a couple months ago,“ I say, mostly just because I can't bear the silence.

„I'm sorry. What happened?“

I tell her a little about Ginny and I – about how we started out, the fights, the make ups. The efforts on both end and that somewhere along the way, we stopped making them.

Lydia lets me talk, from time to time making a note with a flick of her wand. At first, it makes me nervous, but then I stop thinking about it.

„Do you miss her?“ Lydia asks when I'm all out of words.

I take a moment to think about that. „Not as badly anymore. I think I just feel alone.“

I turn my head away, embarrassed. One of the loose threads, I've torn off already.

„It is natural to fell robbed, almost, after a separation.“

Unsurely, I nod. „I just... feeling alone scares me.“

I want her to say something, but she doesn't. So I have to go on talking. „I don't really trust myself when I... feel like this.“

I rip off another of the threads. „When I feel betrayed, I lash out. I know I do.“

„Lash out how?“

Realizing how that might have come off, I quickly add: „I never hurt Ginny, if that's what you're thinking. I'd  _never_ . But... I get so defensive. I just... I think I'm so scared in that moment to be left that the only way I know how to cope with it is pretend I don't care.“ I laugh nervously. „I guess most of us do that though.“

Lydia wobbles her head. „It doesn't sound to me like you acted like you did not care when you found out about your girlfriend's affair.“

„I mean, no. I guess I don't always do that, I just...“

I trail off. I'm not sure what I want to say. But she's right – do I really usually act like I don't care?

Thinking about this makes me uncomfortable, so I drop it.

„You said you were trying to fix your relationship with Ginny,“ Lydia says after a long pause.

„Yeah.“

„But you also said you had known for a while that it would end.“

I frown, rubbing my palms over my thighs. „I mean... yeah, I guess. But that was like – There wasn't like, one point at which it suddenly changed. I think I wanted to fix it and eventually, I realized it wouldn't work.“  


„But you kept trying anyway.“

„She was my girfriend. I owed it to her. She was so busy with her career and she was always so up-front with me, you know,“ I say as if Lydia could possibly know that. She doesn't know me. „She made it clear what she expected and wanted out of a relationship and I failed her.“

I swallow. Something thick is blocking my throat.

„How did you fail her?“

„As I said. I knew what she needed but somehow, I couldn't give it to her. Even though I really tried, but... not hard enough.“

„At some point, did you stop trying?“

My heart is jolting at the subtle accusation. I still have trouble controlling my saliva. Like a fucking baby, Jesus.

„Only in the very end. I... just thought trying makes it worse. I thought anything I do would just make her more upset with me. So I decided not to do anything.“

Lydia nods. Stays silent.

I figure out what she, somehow, seems to have known already.

„Okay, so I guess I don't really act like I don't care, it might just come off that way. Because I actually... freeze.“

Freeze. Like before taking a blow. When you know there's no fighting back.

I bite my lip. Crawling in my skin.

„Harry, I'd like to talk about your childhood a little next session.“

* * *

When I return to the flat, it smells like burned sugar, but not in the endearing way. Just like thick, heavy smoke.

„Pansy!“ I yell as I rush through the door.

She's half hanging out of the window. The cold air is trying its best to chase away the smoke.

„What did you do?“ I ask incredulously.

„Tried to make caramel,“ she says, sounding very small.

„Why the hell are you making caramel at four in the morning?“

„Why are you coming back from Brighton's place at four in the morning?“ she snaps, defensive.

She is in sweats, face still painted.

„He has to get up early tomorrow,“ I shrug. I'm not really a huge fan of sleepovers, Pansy knows that.

I take a look at the pan Pansy obviously used and sigh deeply. This one belongs in the trash.

„Pans,“ I say, chiding and whiny all at the same time.

„I'm sorry.“

She slinks over to me, rueful look in her big eyes. I can already feel my resolve crumbling. I sigh again, waving my wand and vanishing a bit more of the smoke pervading the air.

Pansy comes to a halt in front of me, uncharacheristically small in her stance.

„Everything alright, darling?“

She nods. Presses her lips together. „He stopped coming.“

„Your man?“ The man she was tentatively mentioning last month for the first time. The one who'd always hang around after her shows, buy her drinks and ask about her life instead of the colours of her knickers.

„Not _my_ man, but yeah.“ She rolls her eyes, already switching to annoyance with herself. „I should've known. Men are all the same.“

„I'm offended,“ I say and pull her into my arms. She's snuggling against my chest.

„You're not. You know I'm right.“

„Yes I do.“

My hands card through her dark, dark hair, so much thicker than my own.

„You smell like bloke though,“ she says.

„I _am_ one. Even if my father would disagree.“

„So you're wearing woodsy cologne now?“

I have to chuckle. Shake my head. „No, that must be Brighton's.“

„Is he _really_ that sweet? Like, really. I can't quite believe any bloke would actually be as kind as he seems to be.“

„No, he is,“ I say. I don't say that... if I'm really honest, sometimes, I feel like he's _too_ sweet. For me, at least.

I feel so bad for even thinking it. I'm very aware how lucky I can count myself to have found someone so nice and kind.

Who cares that he can't talk dirty and is probably more of a bottom?

„So a girl can dream.“

„She definitely can. But I'm a little offended that you feel like you need another man in your life. I mean, who could ever top me?“

Pansy snorts loudly. „Not Brighton, I assume.“

My jaw drops and I shove her slightly. She laughs, winking at me. Taking my hands and pulling me to the bed.

„You are _evil_ ,“ I tell her, smoke in my nose.

She wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a very quick, super chaste peck on the lips. „Yes, but you love me.“

I roll my eyes, push her away, then curl up next to her. „That I do.“

I tell myself I'm not waiting for Harry, but I know that's a lie.

He told me he needed space in the beginning of November. It's the middle of December now and he  _still_ isn't talking to me. Isn't dropping by.

I know where he lives. I  _could_ visit him.

Wouldn't it be irresponsible  _not_ to? He's tried to kill himself before. What if he's in a bad place? What if he's waiting for me to reach out?

I push away the thoughts that he has two best friends that will certainly be checking on him often, that he told me he wanted some distance.

I'm worried.

And I'm going crazy missing him.

It's raining, disgusting December rain that should be snow, when I make my way to Harry's flat. At least I  _hope_ it's still his flat. If it's the Weaslette opening the door, I'm pretty fucked. I'm rather sure she still hates my guts.

My heart is in my throat, my fingertips and my toes all at the same time when I knock on the door.

For a while, there is nothing but silence. Then I hear shuffling steps.

He opens the door for me and I lose my breath. He's just wearing a simple jumper and old, worn jeans, but he looks good enough for me to sink my teeth into.

„Draco.“

Green eyes widen. We stare at each other.

„I just wanted to make sure you're alright,“ I say, dripping wet. I remember the last time we were in the rain together.

„Oh. Um... yeah, I'm good.“

„Good. That's good.“

We stare at each other. I can feel little droplets of water run over my neck.

The air between us is solid stone.

Until Harry moves.

He moves and I move and I don't know who kisses whom, but I know we're  _kissing_ . My hands in his hair, pulling him down, closer. His tongue in my mouth. Strong hands on my hips. My back, pressing me against him. Unnecessary. I'm already so desperate to press closer, press into him.

Harry pulls me inside, somehow kicking the door shut before crowding in, pushing me up against it, hot kisses moving from my mouth to my neck. I'm moaning already, fingers digging into his back.

„What about Brighton?“ he asks me and a sharp zip of pain and guilt is jolting through me.

„I'll talk to him. First thing when I leave.“ I promise him and myself.

Harry nods and then his mouth is on mine again. We're not breathing because we can't separate. This has been so long overdue, I don't think anything could stop me right now, stop me from kissing him. Only Harry.

But he doesn't want to stop me, thank Merlin.

His hands slip under my shirt, scorching hot on my cool skin.

„Fuck, Draco. I've wanted you...“

„Forever,“ I say, because I did want him forever. I wanted him when he was just a kid and I was a kid and didn't know why I so desperately wished to touch his wrists and smell his hair.

I wanted him when I first started wanking, thinking of him when I was spilling over my fingers.

I wanted him when I finally got to know him, aching because I knew, he liked me, too, but he couldn't be mine. Wouldn't be mine.

But he's here now.

„Yeah,“ he agrees mindlessly. „Forever.“

He pulls my shirt over my head and we stumble to the bedroom. I don't notice anything around us. I'll have to take a closer look tomorrow. Afterall, I've filled quite many boring hours at the shop imagining Harry's flat. Now I'm here, but I can't be arsed to even open my eyes.

We're a naked tangle of limbs on his Queen Size and I'm mapping out his strong back. Some patches of skin feel different than others. Scars. I'll ask him about it.

Later.

„I'm sorry,“ he whispers, covering my own scars with kisses, licking them. I shudder, turned-on beyond reason, knowing I shouldn't be. Not giving a fuck.

„It's okay,“ I say, raking my hands through his shaggy head of hair.

I spread my thighs for him, encouraging him to settle between them. Wanting his hands everywhere.

„Um, I...“

I kiss his jaw, arching my back in the hope to make him lose his mind, make him as desperate to fuck me into oblivion as I am.

„I haven't really had sex with a boy before,“ he says against my jaw. His face is hot.

I run a hand over his shoulders, my heel over his calf.

„That's okay,“ I say, shifting my hips until our erections press together and he's groaning. „I've only done it once.“

„You mean... all the way?“

„Yes. But we don't have to,“ I say, even though I really, _really_ want to.

I force myself out of the haze of desire clouding my brain and look at him. I take his face in my hands.

„You've never been with a guy at all?“ I ask, not able to stop myself from carressing his cheeks, feeling the slight stubble under the pads of my fingers.

He shakes his head, clearly a bit embarrassed about it. „But I'm a quick study,“ he assures me.

I know he is. He always had to be.

Spontaniously, I decide that I don't want him to have to be. With me, at least.

„Want me to show you some things?“ I ask, smirking at him, looking at his lips.

„Yeah.“

His cock is rock-hard, but I can tell that he's nervous, too. Of course he is. I remember my first time – tipsy, with Blaise in one of his mother's summer residences. I was so nervous, I thought I might throw up. That's why it hurt more than it should have in the beginning. It got better though. By the end, I was begging him to fuck me harder, faster.

I'm really glad Blaise never used it against me. He could have, easily.

„Then lie on your back,“ I instruct.

He does and I can see the pulse thrumming in his throat. He doesn't ask. Just lies back.

As I'm kneeling over him, I put a finger to his mouth and say: „Just so you know, in the future, I'm not going to be the one giving instructions. I want you to.“

„You want me to tell you what to do?“

I nod. „Yes. See this as a little... first lesson to show you what's on the menue.“  


He laughs breathlessly. „Sounds good to me.“

I smile, just edging on dangerous. „Brilliant.“

I take my time kissing down his chest, idly wondering how it can feel so good to lick at his golden skin.

By the time I reach his belly, I can tell he has a hard time not to grab me and shove himself down my throat. I grin, delighted at the prospect. I will so make him do that to me sometime.

I tease him, licking at his hip bones, his thighs, pretending I wouldn't see the gorgeous cock begging for my attention.

„You wanna fucking kill me?“ comes a ragged voice from above my head. I grin and lick a broad stripe up his shaft.

Harry exhales loudly. I decide it's been enough teasing and take him into my mouth.

His hands fly down, winding into my hair. I moan around his cock, because I love this. I'd love it even more if he'd grab a little harder, but this is nice, too.

I work up to swallowing him down and when I do, he comes on a shout. The shout of my name.

I'm so fucking high on him, I might just turn into a Veela, wings sprouting from my back.

I crawl back up, aware that there is still a little bit of his cum smeared around my mouth.

Green eyes with blown pupils find my own.

„Fuck, you're... so fucking good at this.“

I grin and trace patterns on his chest. „I know.“

He catches my jaw and wipes the cum on my mouth away with his thumb. I still, my heartrate spiking.

I stare up at him, breath caught in my throat as he rolls us over, hovering over me. I'm so hard, it hurts.

His hand is sliding down my stomach. „Can I just...?“

I nod at the first word. „Anything,“ I breathe and then he wraps his hand around me, stong and sure and I arch of the bed, clawing at his back.

He quickly loses the timidness and starts working me properly, drawing long moans from my mouth. When he leans down to swallow them, I come, all over his fist.

I don't let him go when I'm spent. Instead, I pull him closer. On top of me.

„Am I crushing you?“ he asks, nose brushing my cheek.

„I like that,“ I murmur, wrapping my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist.

If I have my way, he's never leaving. He's staying here, exactly like this.

He kisses my neck. Sucks on it.

Only much later, when he rolls off of me and I snuggle against his chest, he asks, quietly: „What now?“

I tense, just a fraction. „You tell me.“

„But I don't know.“

„Is it so complicated, Potter?“

He wriggles around until we can lock eyes. His gaze is searching my face.

„I feel like it's always complicated with us,“ he says cautiously.

„I don't.“ I'm giving him an exposing truth. One that makes me uncomfortable.

Not very Slytherin of me to give it away like this, but I want to. „I don't think it's that complicated,“ I add, heart beating faster again. „We like spending time together. We like fucking. So... why not just do that? Both of it, I mean.“

It sounded a lot more eloquent in my head and I blush.

But on Harry's face is spreading a wide smile. „Okay, yeah. That sounds nice.“ He laughs and pulls me against him again, until I can feel his erection pressing against my thigh once again. The tension inside me falls away.


	5. Chapter 4

I start coming to the shop again.

The first time I do, Draco's face lights up when he sees me. I hand him a cup of coffee, kissing him on the mouth very briefly.

„How was your talk with Brighton?“ I ask him, hand lingering on his elbow. Draco pushes it away. Takes it in mine. I think some people are staring, but I don't care.

If it's all over the papers tomorrow – that only means I'll have to talk to Ron and Hermione today.

„Horrible. I tried to be nice and let him down gently, but that's not really my forte.“

I try not to look too smug. The problem is, no matter how great of a person Brighton might be, I never want to see him near Draco again. For all I care, he can move to Australia.

„Do you want to come to mine after your shift?“ I ask, thumb stroking over Draco's hand. He's smiling. I think I can feel his heart pounding.

„Desperate, much?“

„For you? Very.“

He does come to my place later and I undress him the moment he walks through the door. He laughs. Steps out of his pants, pooling around his ankles. I run my hands up and down his legs. Sink to my knees and start kissing his thighs. Higher.

„Potter.“ He's squirming. I growl low in my throat, hands squeezing his pale thighs.

„Don't move.“ My heartbeat is heavy in my throat. I lean in and take Draco's cock into my mouth.

The blow job I give him is sloppy and my glasses askew. Draco's legs are trembling. When he comes, I try swallowing. Don't quite succeed.

He tries pulling me up, but I catch his wrists. Stand up myself and grab him by his thighs, hauling him up.

He sighs, arms encircling me, legs locking around my waist. I carry him to my bed, drop him there. Sit on the edge.

„Suck me, darling,“ I say, pretending to be confident, while inside I'm shaking. I just hope this is what he meant when he said he wanted me to give the instructions.

Judging by the way he's sliding to his knees immediately, looking up at me from between my thighs before leaning in and swallowing my hard cock, I guess I got it right.

„Fuck, Draco.“ My hands are in his hair. When I'm already feeling the desire in my chest, my belly hot, thighs quivering, Draco pulls off. He looks like a debauched angel, mouth all pink and swollen, hair tousled. Eyes shining so bright, even though they're dark with desire.

„You can fuck my face,“ he says and so I do, just a little, afraid to hurt him if I go harder.

I come down his throat and pull him up into my arms. He comes willingly, pressing little kitten kisses to my mouth.

„You're so fucking sexy,“ I say, hands running down to his hips.

He grins into my neck. „Thanks for finally noticing. Took you long enough.“

For all my carelessness earlier, I'm more than nervous as I follow Ron into his and Hermione's flat, him babbling on about Auror training.

They live in a nice cottage just outside London, with a small kitchen and big living room. Hermione hugs me and I sit down next to her on the huge, reddish couch.

„How are you?“ she asks me, still with that faint worried undertone she has adopted since my breakup with Ginny.

„Good,“ I say and mean it. I'm still riding the high from my orgasm earlier, so I actually feel absolutely brilliant. „And you?“

Ron returns with a bottle of wine and I wait until Hermione is done with her little digression to the new law she is trying to get passed. When she finally comes up for air, Ron and I are half a glass of red in and I sense that it's now or never.

„Guys, there is something I should probably tell you.“ Both of my friends look at me, expressions somewhere between wary and excited.

„Spit it out, mate.“ Ron smiles encouragingly.

I take a deep breath. „I'm sort of dating Draco Malfoy.“

A deafening silence fills the room. Ron's face is frozen, while Hermione's jaw has dropped. When none of them says anything, I continue with my heart pumping: „I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him earlier. That must come as a huge shock for you now, but it's actually been building... for years.“

It has. It's crazy, really. For how long we've been friends now. If I'm really honest, I think I might have been in love with him from the very beginning. Or at least for a long time now.

There have been so many afternoons at the shop, so many little and not so little secrets revealed to each other... All those small touches that might have been friendly, but really, never were.

„Haha, very funny, Harry. You got us.“ Ron seems to slowly regain his composure, grinning wryly and emptying his glass. „Merlin's beard, just imagine.“

My stomach drops through the floor. Hermione is still simply staring at me, only slowly managing to close her mouth.

Ron looks between the two of us. „You're not serious,“ he says, something like horror slowly seeping in on his features. „Come on, mate. This has to be a joke.“

I shake my head. „No. It's not. I'm actually, really dating him.“

Ron's face is indescribable. Finally, he turns to Hermione. „Someone must have hexed him.“

Hermione looks at me, puts a hand to my arm. „Harry, have you met anyone new lately? Or someone you haven't seen in a while?“

My mouth opens. „Are you serious? I wasn't hexed!“

Ron's face is compassionate now. „You wouldn't know if you were. Remember Sixth Year? Romilda Vane? I turned completely bonkers and didn't realize it all.“

I look first at him, then at Hermione. Try to make them see how dead-serious I am.

„I've been friends with him for almost two years now. This isn't new. I really like him, guys.“

Ron swallows. „Definitely hexed. But with what?“

„Jesus Christ!“ My voice booms. „I can throw off a fucking Imperius. No one _hexed_ me.“

The look my friends exchange is so horrified that my blood runs cold.

„Why wouldn't you tell us if you really were friends with Malfoy?“ Hermione asks.

„I thought you might not understand.“

It's half the truth.

For a long time, I really just wanted to keep Draco to myself. Have this thing,  _us_ , just for me. I'm not sure if that's romantic or weird or creepy or maybe once again shows I'm a weak person, but I liked having him all to myself.

That's changed though. I want to be able to talk about him. To have him with me at parties, at shared dinners. Have him be my date.

„Yeah, that was reasonable. Because I fucking don't. Harry? What the hell?“ Ron stares at me, still so shocked.

I lift my shoulders, trying not to get defensive. „Look, I get how this must seem to you, but Draco has really changed a lot. He's different. You'd like him.“

Ron's eyes narrow. „He tried to fucking kill me, Harry.“

My mouth goes very dry. „That was an accident. He didn't actually want to kill you.“

Something in Ron's face closes off. His voice is flat when he says: „Right. An accident.“

Panic has my heart pounding again. I can feel them slipping.

„I should've told you sooner, I'm really sorry! I think... if you'd get to know him a bit, you'll see what I see.“

Ron looks down. Shakes his head. „I don't think I want to get to know him.“ When he looks up, my heart almost stops. „There's a  _too far_ for redemption. Malfoy's crossed that line. I can't believe you don't see that.“

My heartbeat isn't too fast, but it's hard, every single pump slamming against my rib cage, hurting my bones. „Draco isn't his father. Or his aunt or even his mother. He didn't have a choice the same way they did.“

„There is always a choice, Harry,“ Hermione says quietly. It's odd, how her words echoe Draco's.

„Yes, but sometimes it's a fucking shit choice,“ I say heatedly. „He was just a child.“

„We were all just children,“ Ron says.

„He was born into the wrong family! You can't expect a toddler to know better.“

„He hasn't been a toddler for all his life though,“ Hermoine says. „And you can't blame his parents for everything. Your relatives were horrible, and see how well you turned out anyway.“

I gulp, knowing she has no idea that her words make me feel like I'm covered in grime.

„That's different,“ I say.

„I just can't believe you're really sitting here trying to justify what he's done,“ Ron says.

„I'm not, okay? He has done some horrible things and there's no excuse for it. All I'm saying is that he _does_ deserve forgiveness. He's not a bad person, Ron. He just made some bad choices.“

My best mate's face is hard, unrelenting, when he shakes his head. „No, Harry.  _I_ made some bad choices. I made a bad choice when I decided to get all jealous and whiny Fourth Year instead of standing by you when you really needed me. I made a bad choice when I started making out with Lavender, mostly to make Hermione jealous. I made a  _fucking_ bad choice when I left you guys in that tent.  _Those_ are  _bad choices_ , mate. Bad choices you can forgive, because aside that, I've been a good friend. What Malfoy has done? That's another story entirely.“

My gaze slides from him to Hermione. I know I look pleading. She has trouble meeting my eyes. „I agree with Ron. Not to say he shouldn't be able to live his life now and try to do better, but... I don't think I'll ever forgive him for all the harm he has done.“

I sit back, crossing my arm so I won't start fidgeting. „Okay. So... what do we do, then?“

Ron and Hermione share a look and I've never felt so much like the third wheel.

„Well, I can't tell you who to date, but... I'm not having Malfoy in this house, Harry. I'm sorry.“

I think Ron really is, but that doesn't make it any better.

I think it might actually make it worse.

The news of the Saviour dating none other than Ex-Death-Eater Draco Malfoy spread like a wildfire.

I've made a couple reckless, rash decisions in my life so far, but I think this might be the most extreme one.

When I said I didn't care about the press, I meant it. I don't care what the average Prophet reader thinks of me.

But I didn't think about what it would mean for Draco when everyone believes he somehow manipulated, blackmailed or coerced me into being with him.

The first blow he has to take is the worst one: He loses his job.

And I can't even blame Dawson, not really. The shop was swamped every single day with a mob of people trying to come after Draco.

„It'll blow over eventually,“ I say, Draco sitting cross-legged on a chair at my kitchen table. His lips are tight as he takes the steaming latté I made for him.

„Eventually, perhaps. But how long will it take? Unlike you, I don't have a couple million Galleons in my vault anymore.“

„I'll help you,“ I say. 

The blond looks at me sharply, managing to appear hard and edgy even under my soft kitchen lights.

„I'm not your sugar baby.“

„I didn't say that.“

„But that's what it would be like.“ He looks away, takes a sip of coffee. Burns his tongue. „I don't want your money.“

I skirt the table and lean down to press a kiss on Draco's hard lips. At first, they won't give in, but eventually, his mouth softens, and with a sigh, he allows me to part his lips with my tongue, slipping it inside.

„I'm sorry,“ I say when I pull back, forehead pressed against Draco's. „It was stupid of me not to think about the consequences before I kissed you in public.“

Draco's face softens. He carresses my jaw. „I didn't think about it, either.“

We move to the sofa and I press him into the cushions until he's rolling his hips against mine. I'm a little clumsy as I'm yanking his pants of, but he doesn't seem to mind, opening my own trousers with nimble fingers.

We kiss for a long while, moving against each other, heat building. Draco is riding my thigh, until I find the courage to slip my hand between his legs, fumbling a bit before I find his entrance. Draco's breath hitches as I touch it, finger running over the furled skin there.

„Is it okay, if I -?“

„Fuck, yes. But wait.“

He gropes for his wand and flicks it, my fingers suddenly slick. I grin. „Fancy.“

„Put it in already,“ Draco growls, hiking one of his legs over my hip to give me better access. I pet his hole until I feel it relaxing. I increase the pressure and slip one finger inside, just the tip. Draco sighs, the heel of his foot digging into my lower back.

„More,“ he says and I push the finger in farther. After not too long, I find a rhythm Draco seems to like. He's moaning and I kiss him, licking into his open mouth.

When my whole index is engulfed by his unfathomably tight heat, I start moving against him.

I haven't done a lot of research regarding anal sex, but even I know that it feels especially good to guys because of the prostate. I've never tried it on myself, but I'm determined to find that spot. Eager to find out if it really feels that good.

It takes me a moment, feeling around, crooking my finger. As I give a little twist with my wrist, Draco draws his legs up higher, back arching. Mouth dropping open.

„ _Harry_.“

It's a high, like the most intense sugar rush I've ever had, paired with what I imagine snorting coke must feel like, hearing him make moan my name like that. Completely gone.

I kiss him messily and resume to stroke over that spot, that sweet spot that results in so absolutely phenomal little noises.

When he comes, it's spurting all over our bellies and I'm so turned on, I'm stupid with it, rutting against his thigh until I tumble over the edge as well.

We're both breathing heavily. My brain feels fried.

Draco turns and pulls my arm around him. I don't dare to breathe when he presses his body against mine. „Hold me tighter,“ he says and I comply immediately, burying my nose in his hair.

He smells so good. I'm not sure I'll ever manage to leave this sofa again.

* * *

I move in with Harry, mostly because I don't want to make Pansy a target when people are besieging our flat.

Partly because we both really, really want to sleep in the same bed every night. We don't talk about it – about us, I guess – but we just... do.

That's foreign to me. I don't usually jump head first into things like this. Maybe I do it now because it feels like I have been waiting forever, waiting for him to finally realize he likes me like that.

Because I  _knew_ I liked him like that.

I have since I was eleven years old. I just got very used to accepting that my feelings weren't reciprocated.

While Harry is working, I try looking for a new job myself – with little to no success. I know I have to wait until the scandal is old news, until I don't get howlers on a daily basis anymore, but I have a hard time accepting that.

As much as I love living with Harry, I hate  _having_ to. Almost as much as I hate that he's paying half the rent for my old flat, that's now Pansy's.

When Harry isn't home and I'm not looking for a job, Pansy hangs out at the flat, profiting from the luxury one can afford as Harry Potter.

We don't talk about Harry a lot. I'm honestly not quite sure what she thinks of us, which is unusual. She doesn't hate it, obviously, but beyond that... I don't know.

Pansy just left and I'm reading when Harry enters the flat, dropping his bag and coat to the floor. He finds me on the sofa and while he does smile when he sees me, it's obvious that something is bugging him.

I let him come to me and kiss him before I ask: „What has you looking so sour?“

„Nothing,“ he says. I wait, because that is Harry's standard response to that question.

Only seconds later, he amends: „Nothing important, I just hung out with Ron and Hermione.“

My shoulders draw up and I look back at the page, not reading anything. „How was it?“

„As it always is.“

He sounds frustrated. I hold my breath, hoping he won't say it. But he does. „I really think it would have been good if you had come along on Christmas, Draco.“

With a pang, I close the book. We've been over this a couple times already and by now, even just the word Christmas makes me aggressive.

Two days before Christmas Eve – we were lying in bed naked, my limbs loose from a spectacular orgasm – Harry asked me if I wanted to come with him to the Burrow for Christmas.

„I know it'll be... not the most relaxed evening, but I really think it might help if my friends actually got to know you.“

I had frowned at him, my afterglow shattered. „That's a terrible idea,“ I said.

Harry kissed my hair. „It doesn't matter how often I tell them that you've changed, they won't believe it until they see it for themselves.“

I think Harry was surprised when I wouldn't budge. Not even a little. I didn't even offer to meet at least Granger and Weasley a few days later, so it wouldn't be everyone all at once.

Right now, Harry has this look again. This accusation. „Well, I do not agree with you,“ I say clippedly.

Harry moves away, creases on his forehead. „How am I supposed to make them like you if you act like you never want to even see them?“

My eyes are narrowed as I look at him, fingers gripping the book hard. „I don't, Harry, okay? I don't want to see them. Ever.“

Harry flinches back. A kicked puppy. My heart clenches.

„Why not?“

„Because they hate me!“

The Gryffindor is looking at me, mouth twitching. „So you're not even going to try?“

I throw my hands up. „Why try if I know it won't do any good?“

„They're my family, Draco,“ Harry says, very quietly. „The most important people in my world.“

What he doesn't say, but I hear clearly, is:  _And I'm slowly losing them because of you._

My heart is thudding in my chest. I don't know what to say. I want to yell at him, hurt him even more. And I want to snuggle up to him, kiss his cheeks and give him the world. Anything he could ever want.

I ignore the sting the words bring as well.

I know I'm not beating Granger and Weasley. I never will.

„Then why are you with me?“ I ask, voice flat.

Harry's eyes flare. He sits up straighter, turning to me.

„Because I _like_ you, you arsehole. I like you so fucking much, it's not even a choice for me. I'll stand by you, always. I just wish you'd make a bloody effort for me, too.“

Something in my chest breaks. The urge to hurt him, drive him away, dissolves – replaced with the burning, compelling desire to give him what he wants, what he _needs_.

I climb on his lap and kiss him until he can't breathe. Until he's grasping my hips, panting and desperate for me.

Only then, I pull back, cradling his face in my hands. Pushing his messy fringe back so I can see all of him.

„I'll try for you, Harry. If that's what you need, I'll do it. But please don't harbour too high expectations.“

The smile expanding on Harry's face is worth everything.

He pulls me down again and we kiss until we're both hard and aching for it. My heart is racing as he nips on my ear lobe.

„I want you to fuck me,“ I say, breathy but clearly audible.

Harry stills for a moment. Then his hands resume running over my flank. „For real?“

„Yes,“ I say, putting my mouth on him again. Showing him how much I crave this. How hungry I am for him.

We're sloppy and eager until we're naked on the bed. As if on a silent command, our hands slow, petting now instead of groping. Our mouths are melting together, not attacking each other anymore.

Harry slips his slick fingers inside me and we don't have to break our kiss for it. It's familiar ground, up until three fingers inside me.

„A little more thouroughly,“ I tell him when he got there and he complies, finger-fucking me until I'm afraid I might come from this alone.

„I'm ready,“ I say. My fingers are running down his arm.

I think he's more nervous than I am when he settles between my thighs. I pull my legs up, hooking one over his shoulder. I wait for him to line up, a little frown of concentration on his face as he looks down, trying to get the angle right. I want to eat up his whole face just because of this little frown.

„I'll put it in now,“ he says and I can't help it – I laugh. He looks at me wide-eyed. I bite back the giggles and nod encouragingly.

The moment his cock presses against my entrance, I grip him hard, mouth falling open. I sigh as he slowly pushes inside me.

„Jesus, fuck. _Draco_.“ Harry's _face_ as he feels me engulfing him... I wish I could paint to capture it forever.

„So tight,“ he breathes. I pant through the stretch, the burn that drives me so wild.

Harry bottoms out with a little groan and I reach down, my hand finding the point where we're joined – my stretched rim, his throbbing cock.

Harry's eyes go wide as I put my hand there. He looks at me like I'm out of this world. „ _Fuck_. Draco..“

I cant my hips, silently asking him to move. He does and I lock my legs around his waist as he starts thrusting, fucking needy moans out of my mouth.

My fingers are scratching at his back. I'm holding on too tight.

„You feel so fucking good, baby.“ 

I know I'm blushing. Heat is zipping through me.

I'm a fucking slut for praise. I know it, even though I wouldn't tell anyone.

But I don't need to tell Harry. He knows it immediately.

His thrusts become more sure, more confident as he seems to adjust to the feeling of an arse wrapped around him instead of pussy.

He slows his hips, going deeper and I moan loudly, back arching, trying to draw him even closer, take him deeper. „So beautiful,“ Harry murmurs.

I bathe in his light. He's looking at my face as he moves inside me, changing the angle until he finds the sweet spot.

I shout, seeing stars. „Oh Merlin, Harry.“

He grins. „There we go.“ When he thrusts again, hitting my prostate dead on, I feel my eyes water. It's so good.

He shifts his weight on one elbow, using the other arm to pull my hands up and above my head, pinning my wrists to the mattress. „Look at you, darling.“

I think I could come from his voice alone. But then he drives into me, more forceful, his grip bruising and all coherent thoughts fly from my brain.

He fucks me hard and fast until I'm a pleading mess under him, moaning and _please_ and _Harry_. With one last, pointed thrust, he makes me come and I shout his name as I do.

He must have let go of my wrists at some point, because now my arms are wrapped around his neck, my legs steel around his waist as he fucks into me, cheek on cheek with me, spilling inside me on a long, broken groan.

My hands are clumsy, my brain fogged as I press kisses to Harry's head until he is able to roll off me. He doesn't go far though, pulling me with him, our legs tangling. When he starts petting my hair, my eyes flutter shut and I'm purring.

He laughs quietly, one of my favourite sounds. „Like a kitten.“

„I'll pretend to not have heard that,“ I murmur, impressed with myself for being able to form sentences again already.

We lie there for a long time, until I open my eyes and smile at him, arching an eyebrow. „Who would've thought you can talk dirty? I'm impressed.“

Harry grins and he's so cute, all dumbly proud of himself, that I almost demand he'll fuck me again right now.

„I mean, I of course expect you to go further with it in the future, but for starters...“ I smile and Harry rolls his eyes, nudging my shoulder.

„It's not like I was a virgin, you know.“

„A butt-fucking virgin though.“ Only now I think to ask. „So... how does it compare?“

It's a stupid question, I know that. Even Harry, moronic, honest Gryffindor he is, must know there is only one right answer to give. And if he _didn't_ and said he likes pussy better, what would I do with that information? Probably go cry in the corner – after hexing him six ways to Sunday.

„I don't know,“ he says and my lips part, shock in my eyes. He casually brushes my fringe back and continues: „I'd say I fucking love butt-fucking, but I really think it might just be you.“

I wish I could wipe the smug expression of his face, but I'm too busy keeping from melting into a puddle.

„Fuck you, Potter,“ I say, hiding my face because I know he knows exactly what he just did to me.

He crowds in closer, lightly biting my shoulder. „I'd rather fuck _you_ again,“ he murmurs and at the low, demanding tone of his voice, my cock fills.

It's only after that I think to ask Harry something I've been meaning to ask for a while now.

After his fingers have slid down my back, between my buttocks and carressed my sore entrance. After I've spread my legs for him and he sank into me from behind, one stong arm wrapping around me, holding on to my biceps for leverage. After I sucked on his fingers while he fucked me deep and I made him cum with a well-timed clench of my arse around him.

So, after all that, when we're cleaned up and sharing a huge box of Chinese takeaway, I finally remember.

„What about that therapist you were seeing, Harry?“

He told me about it very briefly. _Very_ briefly. And I, stupid git, forgot about it.

The Gryffindor shifts a little. „I saw her. Once. It was nice.“

„Just once? Why only once?“

I put my fork down, looking at Harry. He just shrugs. „Didn't feel like I needed to come back.“

He's lying. But I'm not sure how to point it out without making him angry.

I keep my word and meet Harry's friends.

I knew it wasn't going to be good. I feared it was going to be terrible and, turns out, I was absolutely right.

I will say that it's not entirely their fault it goes that way. Mostly, but not entirely.

Sex-crazed and pumped with stupid hormones as I was when I made that promise to Harry, I thought I'd walk straight through fire for him. And I still think I would, but... faced with the reality of meeting Granger and Weasley, it's hard to drag up that passion that's suddenly hidden deep inside.

My first instinct is to dress up like I would when Pansy and I are going out (mostly just in muggle London, especially nowadays). So makeup and tight jeans, probably.

But, kajal already in hand, I pause.

Do I really want to give them even _more_ ammunition?

I leave the makeup. The clothes I'm wearing are so plain that even Harry notices, raising his brows, but not commenting.

They are coming over to Harry's flat and while I probably should be thankful for that, I can't escape the looming fear that it means I can't leave.

He's trying to hide it, but Harry can never keep his emotions under wraps, not even a little. One look at him and I realize he's almost as nervous as I am.

I bet he's thinking about changing his mind. Cancelling the whole thing.

As long as they don't actually _meet_ me, he can keep on saying they'd like me if they _would_. But what if they meet me and decide they still don't like me? What is he going to say then?

I think none of us really wants to find out.

But we're about to.

Granger walks in first and my first impression (after the sickening little somersault my stomach performs) is that she looks surprisingly good. Her hair is still a bit frizzy and very full, but it suits her and doesn't swallow her up anymore like it used to. She's grown into her curves and I know that Pansy would say her boobs are to die for.

After her comes Weasley and while Granger is clearly trying to mask her resentment against me, Weasley obviously doesn't deem that necessary. He's outright glaring at me.

I'll never understand how someone as smart and at least decently attractive as Granger could end up with Ronald Weasley, but even I have to admit that he isn't quite as far below average as I remember him. Tall and broad-shouldered, freckled and red-headed.

„Hey, guys.“ Harry hugs both of them, voice a little too high. I extend my hand for Granger when she turns to me and after a long moment, she takes it.

„Malfoy.“ She nods at me.

„A pleasure to see you,“ I say. I know my voice is chilly. I can't change it – it's how it gets when I'm uncomfortable.

Weasley's eyes find my face. He doesn't extend his hand for me and neither do I.

Maybe it would be good if we'd started this whole ordeal out with an apology on my part. But I can't get the words out.

It's not like I don't think they'd deserve an apology.

It's the vulnerability I'd have to show them that keeps my mouth shut.

We make it through our first glass of wine, waiting for the casserole to be done, by Harry and Granger conversing over work-related things. Both Weasley and I keep quiet.

It's terribly awkward, but I still hope, perhaps, this way we might all survive it.

We've just sat down, plates of food in front of us, when Weasley addresses me. 

„So, Malfoy. What do you do?“ It's impressive how much hostility he manages to put into that question.

„I recently lost my job at Quality Quidditch Supplies,“ I say, gripping my fork too hard, voice even.

Weasley gives me an unimpressed look. „So you're unemployed.“

Before I can answer, Harry says: „He got fired because of me. People kept coming for him at the shop. It wasn't his fault.“

I know it's wrong, wrong and stupid, but I turn to Harry, voice not a fraction warmer when I say: „I can speak for myself.“

Harry flinches, mouth hardening. „Sorry.“ He turns to his plate again and I hate myself.

But I also hate him, just in that moment.

We all knew it was going to be like that. Why did he make us go through this?

„Can't really blame them,“ Weasley says. „The people coming at you, I mean. I thought Harry had been hexed at first, too.“

„I'm flattered you believe I'm strong enough to put a spell on the Chosen One,“ I say, eyes on Weasley.

Granger puts a hand on Weasley's arm, probably afraid he might start throwing curses.

I almost wish he would. It would end our little dinner party quite effectively.

But he doesn't. He just puts his cutlery down, staring at me.

„For all Harry says you've changed, all I see is the same haughty little fuck that tormented First Years for sports.“

„Then maybe you should get your eyes checked out,“ I hiss.

It's a dumb response. I'm _acting_ dumbly. But I can't stop myself. I'm so on edge, I can just barely keep myself from grabbing my wand.

„If you still hate us like you used to, why did you agree to have dinner with us in the first place?“ Granger asks me.

Harry, the bastard, doesn't say a word.

„Because Harry wants us to get along. I told him that's stupid, but he can be stubborn.“

Weasley makes a weird little gasp-yelling noise.

„I fucking told you, Harry. Wake up, man. He's still _Malfoy_.“

Harry stares at his plate. His jaw is working. „Ron.“

Granger gets up. „I think it's better for us to leave now.“ No one objects.

As she's passing my chair, she pauses, looking at me. „I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, Malfoy. For Harry. But I swear to you, if you do anything to hurt him, I'll make sure you'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban.“

Granger and Weasley leave. And Harry and I fight.

„Why did you have to be so mean?“ he says to me, magic crackling.

I spin around to him. „I _told_ you it would be like that!“

„It only was because you were being an arsehole!“

My magic bursts out now, too, the air whispering. Moved.

„You didn't even defend me.“

His jaw drops. Three metres between us. „Are you fucking kidding me? You snapped at me when I tried!“

„That was the wrong time.“

Harry laughs and this is _not_ one of my favourite sounds. It's one of my most hated. „Right, Draco.“

He turns his back to me and I can't deal with that. It's my greatest fear.

„You're right, I'm a fucking arsehole,“ I say, voice trembling. „But you knew that before. You _know_ who I am, Harry.“ I'm getting louder. „I never fooled you. You knew you were dating someone all the people you love hate!“

„Yeah, I am!“ he yells. I flinch, he's so loud. „And maybe in return for pissing off all my friends, you could at least not antagonize them on purpose.“

Hurt makes me mean. It has always been like that. Maybe it will always be.

„Sorry to burst your bubble, Harry, but I'm not the boyfriend to play happy family with. I know you like to play pretend and believe if you're just good enough, you'll get everyone to get along, but you _can't_.“

He's already quiet, but I can't stop. „People aren't kind, Harry. They turn on you when they don't need you anymore.“

I regret saying it the moment the words leave my mouth. Because I know, while this is something I sometimes think when I go to my darkest places, I have the suspicion that Harry really believes it.

It hits him right where it hurts. That's why I said it.

I wasn't joking when I said I'm an arsehole.

Harry is quiet for a day afterward. In the evening, I can't take it anymore.

„I'm sorry,“ I blurt out while he's cooking dinner. I feel like I'll explode into a mess of ugly, red, bloody shreds if I don't say something now.

Harry doesn't turn around, keeps stirring the pasta. „It's okay.“

But it's not. It's not it's not it's not.

I get up. Walk up to him and press my chin against his shoulder. I'm tall enough to look over it no problem, but I'd have to get up on my toes to rest my chin there.

„I shouldn't have said that,“ I say. „It was mean.“

„It's okay,“ he says again. I snake my arms around his waist. Feel the tension in his body as I hold on tight. I kiss his shoulder, the base of his neck. Slowly, the tension is fading.

But something deep inside me knows that the damage is done.

* * *

January flies by as much as it drags on on tired feet.

I spend a lot of time with my students, mostly to prepare them for the exams that are coming up, but also because spending time with Ron and Hermione is difficult now.

No one suggested we repeat that disastrous attempt at a dinner.

Part of me keeps screwing up the courage to ask Draco to apologize. I think at least to Ron, that would mean a lot. He doesn't show it, but he's actually a great believer in second chances. You just have to earn one.

But in the last moment, I always lose my nerve. I'm afraid if I do ask Draco for that, he'll flip and yell at me and be upset. I'm afraid he'll leave me.

So I don't ask him and instead pretend I would be find with the situation.

I'm trying to be. I might actually be, if things between Ron, Hermione and I weren't so strange. I think I could handle keeping Draco and them separate, even though it stings. But it's much more than that.

Since I'm with Draco, they treat me differently. I think they're worried about me – and angry at me.   
I get it. I'm sleeping with a person that has caused them a lot of pain.

But I'm out of words to explain myself with. They can't see the connection between us, can't touch the way I feel for Draco. The way he _makes_ me feel.

I need to figure this out though. It's becoming apparent very quickly that I can't live without my best friends. I somehow need to make them see, make them accept it, even if they don't _understand_.

With that thought in my head, I walk into my flat after a tiring day with my Auror Trainees, not really wanting anything but a glass of wine and Draco's head in my lap. It's almost an evening routine by now – Draco lying stretched out on the sofa, reading a book, while I'm petting his hair and drinking my wine, sometimes making lesson plans, sometimes just _being_.

„There you are.“

Draco is sitting on the sofa and I can tell immediately that he isn't in the best mood.

He kisses me anyway, but when I realize he's trying to get me naked, I have to push his hands away. „I'm absolutely dead, darling. I'm sorry.“

Draco sighs and pulls away, turning on his heels.

„I'll make it up to you tomorrow,“ I promise, but Draco more or less ignores me. „Are you okay?“ I ask tentatively.

Grey eyes meet mine. Draco's mouth his almost sneering, the way I remember it from school. „Brilliant, Potter. Sitting around here the whole day, not able to go out for someone might murder me in the streets... I'm fucking _bored_.“

I bite my lip, guilt pulsing in my chest like a second heart. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. „Come here.“

He does, his lips opening willingly when I kiss him. But when I start unbuckling his belt, he pushes my hands away, sighing. Almost annoyed. „You're tired. I won't force you to have sex with me just because I'm bored.“

With that, he's gone again and I can't help but think that he obviously wasn't bored enough to cook something for us.

I order takeaway and try to start a conversation with Draco, but he's only answering monosyllabicly, so I give it up eventually.

He gives me the silent treatment until I'm completely lost. Only when I leave him on the sofa and return ten minutes later with Draco's favourite chocolate and the book he started reading to me a few days ago, I break his icy interior.

„Oh, damn you,“ he says and gets up. Taking the chocolate and the book from me. Giving me a kiss that makes me weak in my knees.

He pulls me down on the sofa with him and settles between my legs, his back against my chest. My eyes close as I breathe in the scent of his hair.

Draco's fingers stroke my hands over his belly, up my arms.

„You're way too good for me, Harry. I hope you know that.“

I couldn't disagree more, but the last thing I want right now is to argue. Draco leans back and turns his head, kissing my chin.

I fall asleep with him in my arms, reading to me.


	6. Chapter 5

I'm wearing sunglasses in February and a hood pulled over my trademark hair, even though Pansy and I are strolling through an area of London that's mostly muggle.

Whenever someone recognizes me on the streets these days, chances are I'll have to dodge a curse.

Only once we are safely seated in the back of a muggle coffee shop, I can breathe again.

Pansy orders for us, carrying two huge mugs topped with whipped cream over to our little table.

„Thanks, love,“ I say, looking at the beverage with longing.

I need something to cheer me up.

Pansy, looking gorgeous in her short jumper and tight mini skirt over tights, takes a spoon and destroys the artwork of the coffee.

I look around the shop. „I'd work in a place like that. If I could.“

Pansy just hums. We already know all about working in the muggle world – or, more specifically, we know why it's basically impossible for us to work there.

The biggest problem (aside the not entirely unrelevant fact that we don't know anything about all the devices muggles use on a daily basis, or at least only very little) is that we don't have an ID. Neither that nor all the other documents one seems to need to work in the muggle world. We tried faking one before, but it's hard and didn't pass.

Sometimes, we transfigure paper into muggle money and buy food that way. It works quite well – only that, under closer inspection, it's obvious the money is fake, meaning one shouldn't frequent the same shop too often.

Pansy stretches out her long legs and looks at me with a sober expression.

„I don't know why you're so surprised,“ she says.

„About?“

„About the difficulties. I mean, come one, Draco. You knew it'd be hard.“

„Yes, but...“

But I didn't think Harry and I would be fighting that much.

Or maybe I did. Maybe I just refused to think about it because I wanted him so much.

I still do. But at the same time, I'm not sure for how much longer I can live like this.

„I knew his friends wouldn't accept me,“ I ask, allowing the heavenly smells of sugar, coffee beans and chocolate to calm me. „But I didn't think they'd make it so hard for Harry.“

„They do?“

I nod. „He doesn't talk much to me about it, but I know they're in his ears about us all the time. And I also know that it's creating a cliff between them. He's upset.“

My heart thuds painfully.

Pansy, momentarily distracted, focuses her attention back on me. „You don't think you could try with his friends again? They don't have to love you. Not even _like_ you, I don't think. They just need to believe that you're not evil.“ She lifts a brow at me. „You really believe you can't convince them of that?“

I glare at her. „Perhaps I am evil.“

„No, you're not.“ Her gaze is sliding away from me again. Probably ogling some hot guy.

„And I think you're wrong. Perhaps they don't need to _love_ me. But to make Harry happy, they do have to like me. And they never will.“

Once, only once, I had thought about what it would do if I told them about that night when I was nineteen. What they'd think if they knew that I saved Harry's life.

It probably wouldn't change all that much. And it's not like I could tell them, anyway. That's Harry's story, not mine.

„Alright, Draco. So what now?“ Pansy asks. I hate that – when she's forcing me to stop whining and start _doing_.

„What options do I have?“

„You can try make peace with Granger and Weasley.“ Pansy licks some whipped cream off her upper lip. „You can figure out a way how things can work if you _don't_. Or you can end things.“

Pansy leans forward, studying me out of dark eyes. Eyes that know me better than anyone.

„Why are you with Harry? Why did you give up so much for him?“

The answer comes so easily, it frightens me. „Because I love him.“

„I know you do, darling. But then ask yourself – is that enough?“

She isn't trying to sway me one way or another. She is posing a question that I know I should have asked myself before we started this.

It's not like it was with Brighton – the question isn't _Do I like this person enough to be doing this with them?_ The question this time is: _Is loving each other enough for us to be happy together, even though everything else in_ both _of our lives is suffering when we're in a relationship?_

The problem is, I've never loved someone that didn't fit into my life before.

In general, the list of people I love is very short. I love my parents – my father because I can't help it (and I hate him at the same time), my mother because for all her flaws, I've never once doubted her love for me. And I love Pansy.

But having Pansy in my life has always made it easier. Never harder.

Having Harry in my life makes it harder. For Harry to have me in his life... I destroy it.

When Harry gets home that night, I get him naked in minutes. Get him into our bed and kiss every inch of him.

It confuses him – I don't like to do it like that very often. If anything, _he_ is kissing every inch of _me_. But not tonight.

„Baby, what...“ He moans when I suck on his cock, before lifting my head and kissing my way up his chest again. He's leaning against the headboard, hands stroking over my sides and my back.

„I love you, Harry,“ I say.

I wish I had a Pensive to put this memory into. I never want to forget the way Harry looks right now. His eyes so huge. Overwhelmed and full of nothing but me.

I kiss him and move against him, then start opening myself up. I do it efficiently, not to pleasure myself like Harry, who likes to take his time and make me squirm and writhe on his fingers.

When I'm ready, I kneel up and sink down on Harry's cock.

His eyes close, his mouth drops open.

It's so beautiful, I'm close to tears. I rock down until I'm sitting on his lap, his hands on my hips.

I stay still until he opens his eyes again. „I love you, too, Draco. So fucking much.“

I put one hand on his shoulder, the other around his neck and start riding him. It's slow and sweet tonight, like I want it.

His arms pull me close, pull our chests flush until I can hardly move anymore. He's kissing me and something in the way his kisses taste makes me think that he knows.

I hope he does. If not, I'll feel so much worse.

I don't want to blindsight him, but I have no idea how else to do it.

We rock together for what feels like eternity. Until our skin is slick with sweat and the heat behind my navel can't be ignored anymore.

I'm moaning when I pick up the pace, fucking myself on his cock. His hands grasp my hips and he pulls me down on it, groaning, this sound he makes deep in his throat that I love so much.

He's trying to hold back, trying to make me come, but I won't let him. Tonight, I want him to come first. I want to watch it happen and I do.

It breaks my heart into a million pieces, but I don't look away. Don't try to push any of it away. I want it all, even though I think it will kill me.

When his cock is too soft to stay inside me, I allow it to slip out, but don't stop kissing Harry. He's returning the kisses with the same passion and wanks me until I come all over his lap.

He cleans us up with a lazy flick of his wand, then pulls me close. I throw one of my legs over his hip, trying to get as close as humanly possible.

While his hands are stroking down my back, over the curve of my arse, up my thigh, I whisper: „We have to break up, Harry.“

I can tell I'm breaking him with the words, but I can also tell I haven't blindsighted him. He saw it coming and just stayed impassive.

„I don't think we do,“ he whispers back.

„I don't want to,“ I say. „I love you. But we _have_ to.“

„Why?“

„Because I make you unhappy. And you take away my independence.“

For the first time in my life, tears are rolling down my cheeks and I'm not ashamed of them. I just let them roll, salty in my mouth.

„We can figure it out,“ Harry says. 

I carress his face. „I thought about it so much. Tried to find a way. But as I see it, there is none.“

For a long time, Harry is silent. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

„I've never before wanted to try so hard, Draco. Never. I love you.“

The tears that has almost stopped flowing return with full force. „I love you, too. But we'll hate each other eventually.“

Harry smiles, a finger tracing the shape of my mouth, then lightly stroking over my nose. My eyebrows. „I could never hate you, Draco. I'll probably try when missing you becomes unbearable, but I already know it won't work.“

He just keeps on stomping on the shards of my heart. I let him. Gladly.

It's an honour, really, to have him break my heart.

I know that it takes two months after Harry and I broke up until the public has mostly forgotten about our brief relationship. At least I'm only getting hatemail once a week.

I don't know how long it takes for Harry's friends to come around. I hope not as long.

I also don't know how long it will take me to stop crying myself to sleep. I hope not much longer.

I allowed Harry to pay Pansy's and my rent for three months longer, out of mere necessity. Afterall, I don't want to be the reason for Pansy to wind up on the streets with me.

But only one more month to go and that's good.

I don't have the contract yet, but it's almost certain that I'll get a job at a tiny café in Knockturn. It's a little shabby, but the coffee and the cake is excellent and most of the people that eat there don't like public attention, either.

Some nights, when it's really, really bad, I crawl into Pansy's bed. It's mostly empty, since she's working six nights a week, but her smell calms me. Whenever she _is_ there, I sleep better, even though I often wake up with hair in my mouth.

I don't see Harry anymore. We never talked about it, but it was understood that we couldn't be friends. Not right now, at least.

I think it will take me a lot more months until I can try being friends with Harry without breaking all over again every time I lay eyes on him.

The flashing lights of _Cascade_ (Pansy's and my new favourite gay club – partly because of the hot dancers, partly because of the excellent cocktails) could cause an anorysm, but I like them.

When I feel them on my face, the bass of a nameless song thrumming in my chest, liquor pulsing through my veins, I feel like the little bubbles in champagne, all rising to the top. Where they pop and disappear, but well.

It's April now, still too cold, really, to be outside at night, but inside the clubs and pubs of Knockturn, it's warm.

I watch Pansy gyrating with a very pretty girl, all red lips and dark skin and big hair.

I smile to myself, just a tiny bit sad to have lost my friend for the night and return to the bar.

The bartenders, a tall, square-shouldered woman and a man in a G-String, flick their wands, mixing soda and water and vampire tears, then manually adding alcohol, the bottles shining promisingly.

It doesn't take too long until I'm approached by a bloke. Not too tall, sturdy and with a bulging biceps, but a kind smile to soften it up.

„Hullo, luv. Mind if I join you?“

I give him a very pretty smile (not yet seductive – he'll have to work for it before I'll slut it up) and say: „Sure, if you buy me a drink.“

I know I look good when I go out. I'm a pro with my makeup now and the tight jeans accentuate my lean legs (make my arse pop, as Pansy put it).

Of course, not every gay is into it, but many are.

„What can I get you sweethearts?“ the female bartender asks.

„A firewhiskey, neat, and whatever he's having,“ the bloke says.

„One Japanese Lover, if you have it.“

The bartender gets to work and quickly hands us our drinks with a wink and I learn that the bloke's name is John and that he works as a magical engineer, mostly making sure that our floo network is always up to date and working flawlessly.

It's just when a tan, rough hand lands on my thigh and I'm contemplating if that hand will be allowed to slide up higher, that I see him.

Luckily, I'm not holding my drink right now – otherwise it would have now been spilled all over my nice jeans.

Harry must have already seen me, because there is no shock in his face. A lot of emotions, but not surprise.

He's standing only about three metres away from me, leaning against the bar. Next to him, Granger, looking between the two of us.

My mouth is dry and my heart is pounding dizzingly fast.

„You good?“ John asks.

„Yes,“ I say absent-mindedly, unable to tear my gaze away from Harry.

Images of the last time we were together are flooding my mind. Harry's eyes so big and green, looking up at me, chest flushed under his golden tan. Him inside me, that sweet desire pooling in my belly, shooting into my legs, as I roll my hips against him.

_I love you, too, Draco. So fucking much._

I think I might suffer a heart attack, but I soldier through it. I wish Pansy was here, but I can't see her on the dance floor. Probably moved to the loos or even home with her pull.

Harry and I lock eyes again. He looks quickly to the side, back to me.

It's clear we're both trying to figure out who is coming over to whom. I start smiling and so does he and then I get up.

„If you excuse me for a moment?“ I say to John, who doesn't seem too pleased, but simply nods.

The way over to Harry seems to go on for eternity and be over in a nanosecond.

Suddenly, I'm standing in front of him, green eyes smiling down at me.

„Hey, Draco.“

My chest hurts a little, but my smile is real.

Merlin, I've missed him.

„Hi. Harry. Granger.“ I know my eyes must turn wary when I look at her.

While she is shifting her weight, I'm momentarily distracted by her gorgeous dress and makeup. She's wearing a golden, glittery short dress, showing off strong and shapely legs I really didn't know she had. Her eyes are smokey, almost like mine, just more dramatic.

„Wow, you look fantastic.“

Granger turns bright red. And then, she smiles at me. Wonders never cease.

„Thank you. So do you.“

Confidence regained, I grin and wink. „I know.“ I almost called her _darling_ , but luckily, I remember in time that it's not Pansy I'm talking to.

I look back to Harry, whose eyes had been darting between me and Granger.

„How... how are you?“ I ask, my heartbeat once again picking up its pace.

Granger hesitates. Then she puts a hand on Harry's arm, briefly. „I'll be on the dancefloor, Harry. You two talk.“

„Oh, yeah. Okay, I'll find you later,“ he says and with that, the Gryffindor disappears in the masses of writhing bodies, hot under the lights.

„Um, would you... like a drink? We could catch up a bit,“ Harry says.

I nod, fully aware that my Japanese Lover is melting in front of John. He'll forgive me. I'm pretty sure I've seen another blond twink in the crowd. Maybe he'll have more luck with that one.

Harry and I sit down at the bar, close enough to hear each other over the loud music, but careful not to touch.

Harry orders for us and I force myself not to look at him too much. Not to notice how fucking gorgeous he is.

„How have you been, Draco?“ Harry asks after we've toasted, eyes meeting over our glasses.

I raise a brow. „I asked first.“

The Gryffindor rolls his eyes. 

I know I'm being a coward again. Making him set the tone for our relationship from here on. Whatever he says now has gravitas.

One could argue it's only fair to let him do it, since I was the one who ultimately broke it off. So it's his choice how he wants to go about this.

But I know I'm not making him go first to be _nice._

„Well...“ Harry looks at his glass. „I'm not gonna lie, I've had a rough couple of weeks. After you left, I mean.“

My heart is in my throat. I want to apologize, but I also want to let him talk. He clearly isn't finished yet.

„I don't know about you, but for me... Being without you is fucking hard, Draco.“ He laughs a little. „But it had some positive side effects. Like... I told Ron and Hermione about – you know. What I did.“ He takes a breath, annoyed with himself. „I told them I have tried to kill myself. And that you saved my life.“

The green shirt he is wearing brings out his eyes. The eyes that, right now (and always) are my demise. So beautiful.

„That's good, Harry. I'm really proud.“

I flinch, hoping it didn't come across patronizing. I'm not really in the position anymore to be proud of Harry, I know that.

But he doesn't take offence. Instead, he smiles at me. „Thanks.“

He takes a sip from his drink and I notice that he looks good.

Happier than he was with me.

The pain of that realization brings me to my knees. It slices me open and chokes me.

Maybe I'm good enough of a person to stay away to protect Harry, but I'm definitely not good enough to actually be _happy_ , seeing him living his best life without me.

Not even the gratification of having been right does anything to lessen the sting of it.

„I've started going to my therapist again,“ he says. „Not as often as she'd like me to come and... well, I guess it's going pretty slow.“ He looks down, then up at me again, smiling wryly. Trying to mask his uncertainty. „But it's better than nothing, right?“

It's hard, so fucking hard, not to wrap myself around him right now and shower him with kisses.

„It's brilliant. Honestly, Harry. It's really, really good.“

He grins, visibly relieved. His face is almost completely relaxed as he drains his glass and looks at me over the rim of it. „What about you? What have you been up to?“

„Well.“ I follow his example and chug the rest of my drink. „I've finally got a job again, bless. It's at a café in Knockturn and the boss is alright. It pays alright, too. And the customers are interesting.“

Harry snorts, a warm kind of noise. „I bet.“

„Other than that...“ Other than that, I've spent the last two months going out a lot, messing up some bloke's sheets almost every weekend. But I'm not sure Harry wants to hear about what a little slut I've become. „I've been going out quite a bit with Pansy,“ I soften the blow.

„How is she?“

„Pretty good. After the last disappointment with a bloke, she has now started pulling girls instead and it seems to be working wonderfully.“

Harry's eyes widen. „For real?“

I laugh. „Yeah.“

„I'd never thought Parkinson is bi,“ he muses.

I shrug and make eye contact with the bartender to order another drink. „She's never made a secret out of finding women sexually attractive. But I think it's new for both of us that she actually likes dating them, too.“

„Is she dating someone right now?“

I shake my head. „Nah, not really.“

Selfish as I am, I'm glad she's not. It's nice, being single together with her. It's nice knowing I'm her number one.

I always need to be the favourite, even though I don't like that I do.

„What about you?“ I ask, dreading the answer. „Are you with someone?“

Harry shakes his head. „No, I... think I want to be alone for a while. I never really have been, not for long anyway, and... yeah. That's a thing now.“

I nod, once again relieved for entirely selfish reasons. „I'm single too,“ I say.

„But apparently not celibate.“

The little stab raises a tension that I was so glad hadn't been there before. I bristle. Arch my brow at Harry. „Well, no. I like sex, so.“

Maybe I could have said that differently.

Suddenly, I'm confused. What are we? What do you talk about with an ex? Especially if you ended the relationship with _I love you_?

It's clear, at least for me, that we _wanted_ to be together. It's just not possible.

But where does that leave us?

„Yeah,“ Harry says and looks to the side. His jaw is tense.

I bite my lip. „Is that... something we don't talk about?“ I ask carefully.

To be quite honest, I know I wouldn't like him talking about it, either. I'd absolutely hate it.

Sharing is not my forte, never has been.

Harry runs a hand through his hair. „I don't know. You tell me.“

„I don't know either.“

We're quiet, watching the people on the dancefloor.

„I don't want to lose you completely,“ Harry suddenly says. The determined Gryffindor look has returned to his face. „I think I'm ready to try to be friends.“

My heart pounds hard. I smile. „Me too.“

„Okay. Cool.“ He tries to hide his smile in his drink, but of course, I see it. I always do.

„But let's... take it slow? I know that sounds strange, but I think it might be better if we don't spend too much time together,“ I say. „I want to be your friend, but...“

But right now, I still think of your lips. Of your naked body under my sheets.

I try not to obsess about it. Try to just let it be. Accept that it is what it is and that it's _okay_. The attraction will fade over time and what will (hopefully) remain is the connection we have.

„Yeah,“ Harry says and I know he's thinking the same thing. „That sounds... sensible. So, maybe we could hang out next week? Just get some coffee. I have a lot of new students and a couple hilarious stories,“ he says and my smile widens.

„Can't wait to hear them.“

This time around, we're careful with the press. We only meet up at muggle locations and we keep our distance, even though at this point, just being seen together would probably cause a riot once again.

But I still think it would be better to be photographed having coffee together than snogging openly in Diagon Alley.

I'm not quite sure if I find it to be easier or more difficult than I expected. To be friends with Harry, that is.

Most of the time, I think it's easier. Afterall, we've been friends first. Even though one could argue that Harry has never really been _just_ a friend to me.

But what I'm saying is, talking to Harry is easy. I'm used to him talking about his girlfriend, too, and I know how to navigate through dangerous waters. Mostly.

Ninety percent of our time together is almost as good as it was back then, before we kissed and ruined it.

Yet there are those sodding ten percent. Ten percent made of awkward silences. Of being too aware of Harry's shirt riding up. Of smelling his cologne and wanting to snuggle up against his chest.

We also have this unwritten rule that we only meet up once a week, not more. I find that rule pretty hard to follow, to be honest. The thing is, when I get Harry, it only makes me want more of him. Like sugar. Having _a little_ is never enough. I always want more.

But Harry's sugar still burns, even after months, and part of me (the part that tends to speak with Pansy's voice) knows it might be smarter to stop hanging out with him altogether.

We've already tried it, I remind myself. It doesn't work.

It's rather late in the afternoon, only half an hour for me to go until I can go home and hit the club with Pansy, when none other than Hermione Granger shows up at my café in Knockturn.

Maybe she got lost.

„Draco,“ she says as she crosses the small room, her steps making the wooden floor creak.

My given name rolling off her tongue is even more strange than her being here at all.

„Hello, Granger.“

I stare dumbly as she chooses a table pretty much in the middle of the room. She must be coming straight from work, judging by her formal jumpsuit and slightly messy hair.

She looks at me and I drag out my professionalism. „What can I get you?“

„A double espresso would be nice. And something sweet.“

„We have chocolate cake or cheese cake. Some shortbread as well, I believe...“

The Gryffindor smiles at me – not very openly, but it's definitely friendly. „I'm not choosy. Just give me what you think tastes best.“

My heart is pounding ridiculously fast as I prepare her coffee and, after a pathetically long moment of indecision, put a large piece of cheese cake on one of our small, dainty plates.

„There you go.“ I set her order down in front of her and Granger gives me that same smile again.

„Thanks.“ She looks around the empty café. It's already past rush hour and there is only an old man hunched over at a table in the corner, face hidden by his newspaper. He's here every Wednesday and Friday, for at least three hours.

„Would you mind sitting with me for a bit?“ Granger asks.

I can't very well say no, can I?

„Sure.“

I sink into the chair across from her, too tense. Granger takes a sip from the espresso and closes her eyes for a moment. „Just what I needed.“

„Our coffee is really good,“ I agree, unsure what else I could say.

Granger rests her elbows on the table and picks up the small fork. „So, Draco.“

She seems to be set on that given name thing. Looks like I'll have to call her Hermione. „You and Harry... are friends again?“

If she's here to give me another lecture on how I'm destroying Harry's life, I'll kick her right out. I really would.

„We hang out somtimes, as I'm sure you know.“

„Yeah, he told us this time.“ She takes a bite from the cake. „That's really good.“

I wait for her to go on. When she looks at me, her eyes are basically boring into me. It's hard to hold her gaze, but I manage.

„See, I... have a hard time reading you. I'm not really sure what it is you want from Harry.“

I can't help it – I scoff. „Oh, I bet that bugs you, Granger. Always need to know everything, don't you?“

„It's a habit of mine, yes.“ Her brows draw together a little. „I'm not here to start a fight, Draco. I'm here because I want to understand. Maybe even apologize for my previous behaviour, but that depends.“ She puts her fork down and crosses her arms. Her gaze really is fucking intimidating. „You must understand that it's not easy for Ron and I to just believe you've made a U-turn and suddenly care about others. We're only worried about Harry. I'm not trying to make life hard for you or drag up old resentments. But you can't just expect me to like you on the spot. Or forgive you.“

I look at the surface of the table, the old wood. My finger traces one of the patterns there. „I do understand that,“ I say.

„Good. Then why are you being so... mean, still? If you really care about Harry, you should care about my opinion on you, too.“

I look up at her and cross my arms like she does.

„Being mean is a bad habit. I just... You and Weasley, I don't think you want to give me a chance. I'm not begging you for one.“

Granger studies my face. „I'm ready to give you a chance now. But you have to meet me halfway.“

I nod, afraid to open my mouth again.

„You really hurt me, Draco. In school, I mean. And after, too. I understand that you hadn't much say in the matter when it came to doing what Voldemort asked of you. I don't think you really wanted to follow him. But I also haven't forgotten how you used to treat me and Neville. Ron. _Harry_. No one forced you to do that. You did it on your own.“

I nod again, then clear my throat. „You're right. No one forced me. It was... Mostly, I was idolizing my father. I believed everything he told me. And, I won't lie, I liked thinking there was something that made me just inherently better. I see now how wrong that is, but it's what I used to believe.“

I look at the table and frown. „There were many reasons why I tormented you. Blindness and jealousy being the main ones. Later, I was scared, too.“

When I meet Granger's eyes, I'm not putting on a mask. „I'm aware how much I hurt you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry.“

Granger bows her head. Lifts it again and tilts it. „Okay.“ She smiles. „I'll give you that second chance.“

* * *

I'm a little late to Lydia. Not because I came straight from work or forgot the time or anything of that sort.

Simply because it is always hard for me to screw up the courage to actually walk into her office. Still.

Most of the time, I manage.

„Good to see you, Harry,“ Lydia says as I take a seat on her plush sofa. She folds her hands in her lap. „How are you?“

I'm getting started with some of the not really important stuff – work, Ron and Hermione.

Lydia lets me talk, even though I'm fully aware that she knows I'm just working up to what I actually want to be talking about.

„I've been hanging out with Draco again,“ I say, peering at her from under my lashes.

Lydia regards me serenely.

„It's good,“ I say. „I feel better than before. I mean – I guess I've missed him.“

I look at my hands. The faint pitter-patter of rain hitting the window and roof calms me.

It also awakes a memory. Draco and I in the rain on that bench, his charm keeping us dry. We'd held hands. Pre-Kiss. Pre-Everything.

„I'm just a little scared that... we can't be friends anymore.“

When I'm silent for at least two minutes, Lydia asks: „Do you want to be friends, Harry?“

I'm still looking at my hands. The faint, silvery scars: _I must not tell lies._

„Yes. No, not really. I don't know.“

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, then start attacking the loose strands on my jeans once again.

„I want to be more than friends, I think. But I also don't want to lose him again. I seem to... fuck up in relationships. I'd rather stay friends and keep him, than be more and lose him eventually.“

I clasp my hands. They're shaking very slightly.

„Do you love Draco?“

It's unusual for Lydia to ask questions so direct. This one makes my heart pound.

„I... What even is love?“

My therapist smiles. „You tell me.“

I think back to Draco and I in the rain again. We've talked about love then. In that moment, I was sure we got right. That I understood the feeling.

Now... I'm not so sure anymore.

„I guess love is being willing to die for someone,“ I say. As the words are leaving my mouth, I realize I don't agree with myself.

I'd die for people I don't love. I _did_.

„Love is forgiveness,“ I try again. „It's accepting someone with all of their flaws.“

It doesn't sound quite right, but better than the first attempt I made.

„The thing is, people I love tend to leave me.“

„Who left you?“ Lydia asks.

Such a stupid question. My eyes are hard as I look at her. „My parents? Sirius? Dumbledore? Remus? Ron and Hermione? Ginny? Pick one.“

Lydia shifts a little in her chair, the slightest frown on her face, if still calm embodied.

„Ron and Hermione haven't left you.“

„Kinda. I mean – we used to be three. Now we're two plus one.“

As I'm saying it, I feel bad. Like a fucking arsehole.

I close my eyes briefly, then add: „I don't mean – I'm happy for them. Truly. And it's always been like that, a little bit at least. I just... sometimes I get sad about it, but I'm working on it. I know it's wrong.“

„Emotions are never wrong. They just are,“ Lydia says and I don't know what to answer so I look away.

„Did you ever talk to them about your feelings regarding their relationship?“

I snort. „What would I say? _Please break up, because I'm fucking incapable of functioning like a normal human being_?“

„It might help you to hear their view on things,“ Lydia says.

„I don't want for them... That they have to lie so that I feel better. I don't want them to think I'm weak or... or that I'm trying to come between them or anything. They're happy, so I am too.“

„But you're not.“

„I'm okay. We can't be happy all the time.“

Lydia bows her head. „That's true. But it is alright to voice feelings of hurt or jealousy, even when you haven't been wronged. It's okay to feel possessive sometimes. We all do.“

„I think it would be different if they weren't my family, too.“ I look out the window, to the wet wall of a grey house. „Because they used to be my family and now they're starting a family of their own. And I'm not part of it. So, basically, I'm losing my family.“

To my own shock, I feel tears prickling in my eyes. Annoyed with myself, I bite them back.

„What about your relatives? The people that raised you? Why don't you consider them family?“

I drop my gaze to my lap again. „They never wanted me, either.“

The rain is the only thing I can hear as Lydia waits for me to continue.

„They... pretty much hated me, honestly. They, um -“

I look up at the ceiling. There are the tears again. It's not easy to blink them back.

„They hated magic, for starters. And hoped if they just... That they could make me – not have it.“

_Break me._

„I've never had any friends before Hogwarts,“ I say, working the loose strand on my jeans. „Dudley made sure of that. I was really – really lonely when I was a kid.“

I frown, still looking down. „I really tried to please them. I thought if I was just good enough, they'd love me. Stupid, I know. But I was a child. I didn't know what else to do.“

The rainfall lessens. I wish I couldn't see the rays of sun falling through the window. It feels wrong.

„They made me sleep in a cupboard, which wasn't that bad, really. But sometimes they'd lock me in, mostly when Uncle Vernon was mad and... I felt like I couldn't breathe in there. Like the walls, they'd just come closer and closer and I – I couldn't _breathe_. They left me locked in for so long once, I thought they had forgotten I was there. I thought I'd die in there and no one cared.“

My cheeks are wet. I pretend I wouldn't notice.

I look up. „I just... I know it wasn't my fault the Dursleys treated me badly, but I... It's hard for me to feel like I deserve – good things. It's like I never try hard enough. Or _too_ hard. Either way, I fuck it up.“

„Something is up with you today.“

Draco looks at me out of slightly narrowed eyes and I shift my weight on his three-legged chair.

„I'm fine.“

„Yeah, you always are. Even with your Fiendfyre licking at your feet, I bet.“

I roll my eyes, fingers tracing over the surface of the table.

Neither Draco nor I addressed it, but I'm rather sure we're in his flat because mine holds too many dangerous memories.

„I just had a therapy session yesterday. Is all.“

Draco's eyes soften. „It was intense, I take it?“

I just nod. He doesn't make me talk about it. Simply hums and gets up from his chair, flicking his wand at the coffee maker.

„Pansy will be here soon.“

„Oh. Yeah, I can – I'll go.“

„No.“ The answer comes so prompt that I blink at Draco in surprise. He has turned his back to me, fumbling with a cup. „I mean, you don't have to. You can stay. Pansy won't mind.“

My heart shouldn't be speeding up. I ignore it.

„You sure?“

Draco throws me a brief look over his shoulder. „Yeah.“

Pansy is clearly surprised to see me here, but gets over it rather quickly.

„Don't you look gorgeous, darling,“ she says to Draco, kissing his cheek.

I know Draco is as gay as one could be, but it still ignites a hot fire inside of me – the bad kind of fire.

She drops her bag on her bed and pulls out two bottles. Draco's brows lift. „We're drinking tonight?“

„Yes.“

„It's Sunday, Pans. Some people actually work the usual nine to five.“

„Well, fuck those people.“ Her words are softened by the smile she throws him.

Draco shakes his head. „I have to be at the café nine sharp tomorrow. Being hungover won't do.“

Pansy pouts. „I've had a shit week. You know that.“

To my slight shock, she comes over to me and puts both hands on my shoulder, as if we'd have known each other forever and not only met a handful of times.

„Harry, you're drinking with me, right?“

„Um...“

Draco's gaze at her almost has me bursting out laughing. It obviously says: _Really, bitch?_

Pansy leans down, arms slung around my neck, cheek against my head. „He wants to drink with me.“

Draco's eyes narrow.

„I actually have to work tomorrow, too...“

„Come on, guys. Never heard of hangover potions?“

My eyes meet Draco's. He gives me a _Well... I guess we have to_ look, which Pansy catches as well and starts howling triumphantly.

She spins to her bag, getting the bottles out. I throw Draco another look, this time slightly frightened. We both have to grin.

„Potter, why don't you call your friends?“ Pansy asks casually.

My jaw drops. „Er – what?“

„Call your friends,“ she says. „The more the merrier, right?“


	7. Chapter 6

Harry only calls _one_ of his friends. Hermione, because she doesn't have to work tomorrow, since she's apparently worked the whole weekend.

He clearly only does it because Pansy successfully intimidated him – and not without saying three times that he doubts it's a good idea.

While he's sending Hermione a message, I pull Pansy aside and whisper: „Stop.“

Big, dark eyes gaze at me. Innoccence embodied. Sneaky little bitch. „With what?“

„You know what.“

„I'm just trying to make a couple new friends. You should try it sometimes, Drake.“

Her eyes are sparkling and if I was a little bit more of a Hufflpuff, I would have to admit that Pansy has always outsmarted me.

When it knocks on the door, Harry and I share a panicked look.

Pansy beats us to it and opens the door. „Granger,“ she lilts and I wonder if she really isn't nervous or just that good at hiding it.

„Hi,“ Granger says, voice a little bit too high. _She_ is nervous. Makes at least three of us.

But when I catch a glimpse at Pansy's face, I know it's all of us.

„Hey, Hermione.“ Harry hugs her and I can tell how relieved Granger is to see him.

I lift my chin, shifting my weight. Harry does the same – glancing at me, then away again.

„What do Gryffindors drink?“ Pansy asks, her nerves almost perfectly hidden. Only I can see them, and only if I'm looking closely.

Harry and Hermione share a shrug. „Firewhiskey's always nice,“ Harry says.

„I don't have firewhiskey.“

Harry's eyes dart from left to right. „Um, okay.“

„Just give us the booze, Merlin's beard,“ I say, rolling my eyes and snatching one of the bottles from Pansy. It's Tequila, of course. Pansy's favourite.

„Not silver tonight?“ I ask her while opening the bottle.

„You know I only like silver for the colour. Gold tastes better.“

Since there aren't enough chairs, Pansy and I sit down on her bed (it's just a tiny bit bigger) and when Harry and Hermione hesitate, Pansy pats the mattress. „Get in here. I really want to learn some juicy secrets straight out of the Gryffindor dorms.“

Hermione gives a smile, only slightly tentative. „Now I understand why I'm here.“

Pansy winks at her and we scoot over, so that the Gryffindor's can sit facing us.

„Cheers.“ Pansy lifts the bottle, takes a swig and then hands it to me.

The liquor burns as it runs down my throat, but in a good way. I've always liked tequila, little slut that I am.

I give the bottle to Harry, fingers brushing lightly. I watch him while he drinks. Puts his mouth where mine was just seconds ago.

„So, Hermione.“ We're apparently all on first name basis here. „You're still with Weasley?“

I'm not sure if that's such a smart move from Pansy, talking about Weasley.

„Yes, we... yeah.“

I catch Harry's slightly irritated look at her lackluster answer.

„Trouble in paradise?“ Pansy smirks.

Hermione gives her a porcelain smile that tells her they're not there yet.

Maybe when the bottle is finished.

„How are your aspiring Auror trainees?“ I ask Harry as the bottle is passed my way again. He has told me earlier that he's a bit worried about some of them.

„They're trying really hard,“ he says, frowning lightly. „But there are just so many things they just don't know. Like, no one's ever told them.“

„For example?“ Hermione reaches for the bottle.

It's a bit surreal, sharing a bottle with her now. Not too long ago, she hated me.

„The Patronus Charm. But also shaking off an Imperius, non-verbal spells... All that advanced stuff they apparently don't really teach them in Hogwarts.“

„Severus taught us non-verbal spells,“ I say, taking the bottle back.

Harry's eyes meet mine and it's so very easy to hold his gaze. „Yeah, but it's apparently not mandatory. More than half of my students are pants at them.“

„Aren't you, too?“ I ask, smirking.

Harry flips me off, grinning too. „I _was_. Now I'm brilliant.“

„Are you now? How about a little demonstration?“

His eyes sparkle. „Okay, you've had it coming.“

He draws his wand and flicks it. Nothing happens.

Well, except for Pansy and Hermione breaking out in giggles. I look between them and Harry. „What? What did you do?“

Harry looks at me, a little above my eyes.

„Pretty in pink,“ Pansy says, snorting. „Sexy, Drake.“

I touch my face, but it all feels normal.

Harry is grinning widely. „This is cute. Maybe we should keep it like that.“

I bolt up and dash to the mirror.

My hair is _pink_.

After a moment to get over the horror of it, I shrug elegantly and teeter back to the bed.

„I think I'm rocking it.“

Harry rolls his eyes. I arch my brow at him.

He flicks his wand again. „I like blond better.“

„Oh, we know,“ Hermione murmurs and Pansy is positively beaming with malevolence. Harry is bright red and I can't quite meet his eyes.

„I like you, Granger,“ my friend grins. Hermione appears quite pleased with herself.

Pansy turns to Harry. „Draco actually wanted to dye his hair blue back in Fourth,“ she says, putting the bottle to her lips again.

Harry looks at me, curious and smiley. „Yeah?“

I glare at Pansy. „I mentioned it maybe _once_.“

„Sure, darling.“

„Didn't know you were such a punk, Draco.“ Harry grins and takes the bottle from Pansy, then passes it to me. I take a generous swig. Warmth is starting to spread in my belly, laughter bubbles in my chest.

„Oh, he was. Poor repressed gay had to express himself somehow.“

„I wasn't that repressed,“ I say, taking another sip.

„Right, you were fucking Theo. I almost managed to make myself forget.“

Hermione's interest is peaked. „You and Nott?“

I shake my head. „Not really. We were just... both gay and horny. That was about it. Theo's quite the arsehole.“  
„But his cock is pretty great, according to Draco at least.“

I know I'm bright red. Harry's brows threaten to disappear in his fringe.

I bite my lip. „I didn't really have anything to compare it to back then.“

Now it's Harry's turn to blush. I love when he does.

Pansy and Hermione share a look. „ _Right._ “

„Okay, your turn,“ I say, nodding at Hermione. „Any school crushes besides Weasley?“

As Hermione tells us about her short-lived romance with Viktor Krum, we're all laughing. Tequila is burning in my stomach. My knee is pressing against Harry's.

Pansy is on a roll when Hermione asks her about _her_ school crushes. After listing about ten boys (I knew about all of them, of course), she says: „Oh, and then there was Angelina Johnson, of course. But I'd have never admitted that back then. I mean, she's a Gryffindor.“

Hermione almost chokes. „You're bi?“

„Yeah. I usually prefer guys, but... fuck, women are so beautiful.“

„I think so too, but I feel like everyone kinda does.“ I realize that Hermione is pretty drunk already. „I mean, I check out girls' butts, too.“

Harry's and my eyes meet. „I don't check girls' butts out,“ I say.

„No?“ Hermione blinks at me.

I shake my head. „Not that I wouldn't think women are gorgeous, but the thought of fucking them – no.“

Pansy rolls her eyes. „Draco's just too much of a bottom for that.“

Harry chokes so bad, he starts coughing. While I pat his back, I say: „How presumptuous of you to assume all women are bottoms. I'm sure some like topping, too.“  
„Oh, honey, I know.“ Pansy grins and both Gryffindors are as red as their house colour. Pansy and I laugh.

„Alright there, Harry?“ I grin, my hand running over Harry's back.

„All good,“ he says, voice hoarse, eyes watery.

„But, really – Draco ended a whole relationship because the guy he was with preferred taking it up the arse, too,“ Pansy says.

I know she's drunk, but that comment makes me mad anyway. „That's not true,“ I say sharply.

Pansy rolls her eyes. „Okay, it was mostly because you were in love with -“

„Why don't you tell us a little about _your_ relationships instead of spreading lies about mine?“

Hermione sends a compassionate look my way and hands me the bottle. I drain it.

„Time for vodka,“ Pansy chirps and we all have to laugh at her ridiculousness. 

She is swaying pretty heavily on her feet.

„Don't fall, luv,“ I call, my hand running from Harry's back to his thigh, resting there.

Pansy tumbles back onto the bed, basically falling into Hermione's lap. The Gryffindor doesn't seem to mind too much.

Pansy gets the bottle open and takes the first swig, then hands it to Harry.

While I drink, Harry's hand comes around me, fingers rubbing circles into my side. A contentment deeper than I've ever felt it settles over me. At the same time, my heart is pounding harder, skin prickling.

It shouldn't be possible to feel both at once, but it is.

Hermione glances at us, but her gaze slides away quickly.

With his free hand, Harry takes mine and I immediately intertwine our fingers.

It's okay, I tell myself. We're friends. We can touch.

„Maybe I should stop. I'm really drunk,“ Hermione says, looking at Harry, then at Pansy. I have to laugh at her slurring her words.

Pansy grins and nudges her shoulder. „That was the goal, luv.“

I lean into Harry while the girls talk about something I can't quite follow, Harry's fingers still tracing circles, my head swimming, my body so completely at ease with him.

„Things with Ron actually aren't so great right now,“ Hermione blurts.

I can feel Harry tense just the tiniest bit. I turn to rub my cheek against his shoulder, squeezing his hand.

„What's the matter?“ Pansy looks at Hermione with heavy-lidded eyes.

„He wants to marry, you know? And _have kids_.“ Hermione shudders as if that thought was absolutely appaling. I get where she's coming from.

„You're pretty young for that,“ Pansy says.

„ _Exactly_.“ It's so funny, seeing Hermione like that, I have to try really hard to stay serious.

She looks at Harry now. „Did Ron tell you? That he was planning to propose?“

Harry hesitates. Then nods sheepishly. „What did you say?“

Harry squirms a bit. I press tighter against him. „Um, well. I said if he thinks it's the right thing, he should. But I also told him that I don't think you'd want to, you know. Go through all the next steps _that_ soon. I mean, your career and stuff.“

Harry is really drunk too and I _love_ Harry drunk. So adorable.

„Yeah! My _career_. Ron knows I don't wanna be a mum. Not now.“

„Did he actually ask you if you want to start trying for kids?“ Pansy asks, brows raised. 

Hermione shakes her head. „No, not _really_. But he made it clear that he, you know. Would be open to it as soon as I am. So he basically wants to have them as soon as possible.“

Pansy takes Hermione's hand. „Hun, do you even _want_ kids?“

I have to stifle a giggle at the way Hermione gapes at her. „No!“ she finally blurts out. „Not before thirty, _at least_.“

„Then tell him that.“

„I'm _trying_ , but Ron... he's so family-oriented.“

Pansy strokes over Hermione's hand. „Sweetheart, if you don't want kids, you don't want them. He can either accept that or... find someone else.“

Hermione is pouting now.

„I'm sure Ron will be fine with it,“ Harry says, looking at Hermione compassionately.

„I'm not,“ she sighs, leaning against Pansy's shoulders. Her eyelids are dropping.

„I think she's ready for bed,“ Pansy says, petting Hermione's hair.

„I can... take her home?“

„Can you?“ I blink at Harry. He's definitely not apparating anywhere tonight.

„Don't be silly, she can sleep here, of course,“ Pansy says.

„You can sleep here, too,“ I say quietly to Harry.

Harry's lips part slightly as he looks at me. Then he shakes his head. Squeezes my hand. „I think I should really go home.“

I nod, leaning in slowly. Press my mouth against his shoulder. Not kissing it. Just rest there, breathing against him.

„I'm taking you,“ I say.

„Draco...“

„Just taking you there. I'll come back here then, promise.“

„It's pretty far, you know that.“

„Not _that_ far. Plus it'll sober me up a bit.“

I straighten and look at Pansy. „That okay?“

„Sure. I'll put Hermione into bed.“

Harry and I walk with our arms linked. I'm tucked close to his side and I've never felt so right.

He asks me quiet, honest, drunk questions about my work and about Pansy and how I feel. I answer them and then say: „You know, Harry. If you want to talk about the things you talk with your therapist about... you can do that with me.“

I frown slightly, trying to get my thoughts straight. Lean into him a little more closesly. „You can tell me anything, really.“

He sighs. His arm is pulling me tighter against him.

„You know, when you owled me earlier today that you think it'd be a bad idea for me to be at your flat... I almost cried.“

„What? Why?“

I rub my cheek against his shoulder. „I thought you meant you didn't want to see me today. At all.“

„You almost cried?“

„Hm-hm.“

Before I know what's happening, I'm pulled into a bone-crushing hug. The best hug. „Oh my god, _Draco_.“

Harry must be very, very drunk, but I don't care. I feel him press a kiss into my hair, his arms swallowing me up and I'd be more than content to never move again.

But eventually, we do.

Leaning into each other, we walk the rest of the way to his flat. In front of it, the last thing I want to do is say goodybe. I just want to come inside with him, make him curl around me and fall asleep in his arms. Wake him up with a blow job. Make him breakfast.

But he told me not to come into his flat... at least _twice_ today (I'm honestly having a hard time remembering right now – everything is kind of blurry). So I need to respect that.

This time, it's me pulling him close for the goodybe hug.

„Sleep well, Harry,“ I say.

He doesn't release me for a long time, so I just keep on stroking the back of his neck, relishing in the feeling of his strong arms around my waist.

„You too, Draco.“

I throw up at work the next day. No kidding.

When Pansy said yesterday, hangover potions are a thing, she was absolutely right – they _are_. They're great – if you have them on hand.

If you don't, you'll have to suffer through your hangover like any muggle would.

Great job, Draco.

I make it through the most excrutiating first two hours of my shift without any major incidents (I'm pretty sure the young witches I'm serving cinammon porridge and orange juice recognize what's up with me and find it rather hilarious, but at least I'm not puking into their food. Even though I feel like it).

Around noon, the door opens and a sun-glassed Pansy walks in, flat shoes and clad in one of my sweaters. It's a little too warm for that I think, but I get that she was feeling a jumper today.

„You are evil, Pansy. I hate you so much right now,“ I greet her as she drops into one of the creaky chairs, taking off her sunglasses.

„Funny, Hermione said the same thing when she left this morning.“ She folds the glasses and puts them on the table, pulling menu close.

„She was pretty out of it, too,“ I say, massaging my throbbing temples.

„Can you get me a vanilla latté?“ Pansy asks.

When I get back with her drink, she barely takes one sip before she goes in for the kill.

„Are you shagging Harry again?“

I'm glad I didn't get a coffee for myself (too many customers for a drawn out chat), because if I had, I'd be choking on it right now.

„No, I'm not!“

Pansy's mouth twitches, forehead creasing _._ „It looks like you were.“

„Well, I'm not. I'd have told you if I had.“

She hums and folds her hands around her cup. „Why did you break up with him again?“

I stare at her. „Because he was losing his friends because of me. And I couldn't show my face on the street anymore. Remember?“

„Hm.“ Pansy takes another sip, foam coating her lip.

„Why? Why are you asking that now?“

She lifts one elegant brow at me. „Because you two look like a fucking lovesick couple.“

I bite my lip hard. „I was pissed. So was he. We're not usually...“

„Feeling each other up in front of your friends?“

„We weren't _feeling each other up_. We were just -“

A pause.

„Snuggling?“ Pansy asks, like an indulgent teacher.

I say nothing.

„Draco, you're clearly still in love with him.“

„We snuggle, too. You and me,“ I say, not meeting her eyes. I feel sick. Fucking hangover.

„Not like that. And, anyway, that's different.“

„Why is it different? Because you're a girl?“

„Yes!“

„So you think I can't be friends with a queer guy?“

She tilts her head, brows raised. „I think you can't be friends with Harry.“

„I can.“

„ _Just_ friends, I mean.“

„I can be just friends with him. Honestly, Pansy.“ I take a swig from her latté.

„I don't believe you,“ Pansy says.

I shrug. „It's either be friends with him or don't have him at all. We don't work as a couple.“

„Why not?“

„Because the public won't leave us alone. I'll lose my job again and have to fear for my life. Harry will be critized by everyone, first and foremost his friends that _hate_ me.“

„Hermione doesn't hate you.“

„She's just one person.“

„She's fifty percent of the people you _really_ have to convince. And I think now that she's come around, Weasley will too.“

„I'm not so sure about that. And anyway...“ I grab the menu from her table and smooth down my shirt. „It's not just that. We fought a lot and... it won't work, Pansy.“

„Coward,“ she says quietly. My eyes narrow.

„I'd rather be a coward than fuck it up for good.“

* * *

I guess is a testimony to our friendship that I walk straight into a fight between Ron and Hermione. I'm coming over for our (almost) weekly dinner together and while they left the door open for me, they apparently completely forgot that I'm coming, because they're shouting at each other in the kitchen.

„It was your day today,“ Ron says loudly, clearly beyond annoyed.

„I had to work, Ron!“

„How is it possible that you're working late every fucking day of the week?“

I slowly creep down the hallway.

„I'm not a bloody housewife!“

„I never said you were! But when you say you'll cook, I kinda assume that _you'll cook._ “

„Um, hi, guys.“ I wave at them awkwardly from the doorframe.

Two heads turn to me. „Hi, Harry.“

Hermione avoids my gaze. I'm sure she remembers what she told me (and Draco and Pansy, of all people) only two days ago.

„Good to see you, mate.“ Ron heads over to me and gives me a brief, but strong hug. I clap his back.

„Am I bothering you? We can reschedule, if you want.“

„No, no. We'll just have to get takeaway,“ Ron says. Hermione stays quiet.

„Are you sure?“

„Yeah, 'course. I haven't seen you in, like, over a week.“

We order burgers and while Ron and I catch up, mostly on work related stuff, Hermione is pretty silent still.

„So you're just like, not gonna talk. The whole evening,“ Ron says when we're all done. I stare at my knees.

„Oh, give me a break.“ Hermione gets up and walks out.

When she's gone, Ron leans back in his chair, rubbing his face with both of his hands. „Would be nice if I had any idea what I've done wrong.“

I throw him a glance, unsure what to say to that. „You didn't... have a fight?“

„We always fight, lately. Over petty shit that really... Like, since when do we fight over fucking cooking? I mean, we both don't like it. So we take turns. Simple as that. And now Hermoine's, like, offended whenever it's her turn.“

Ron looks at me, lost and exhausted. The kitchen lights make him seem older than he actually is and for the first time, it really hits me that we're _adults_ now. I don't know why I've never realized it before.

I mean, part of me has never really been a child. I've always had to be a grown-up.

But instead of being mature enough to save the world, we now need to be mature enough to navigate relationships that might one day lead to children. And that _one day_ could actually be pretty soon.

It's absolutely crazy.

„Did she talk to you? Said something, maybe?“ Ron asks me.

I frown at my hands. Unsure how much to tell or if anything.

„Well, I guess... she said you guys talked about kids?“

Ron looks surprised. „Um, yeah. A little.“

„What did you talk about?“

Ron leans forward on his elbows. „Nothing much. I just said that I'd be fine with having them sooner rather than later. I think it'd be cool to be younger parents. She said she isn't sure yet and that was that.“

He studies me, tilting his head. „Is she upset because of that?“

„I think she might feel a bit pressured.“

„Pressured?“ Ron looks genuinely confused. „Why that?“

I lift my shoulders, feeling like I'm betraying Hermione. This is not really my place. But I don't want to lie to Ron and maybe it helps if he knows why she's upset.

„She might think you were being pretty serious about having children soon.“

Ron frowns. „I mean, I was.“

„Well, I don't think Hermione wants kids anytime in the near future.“

„Um, okay. Why didn't she say so?“

„Maybe she did and you weren't really listening?“

He thinks that over. „I mean... I know I'm not always the most sensitive. Sometimes she thinks she made something clear but I didn't even get that she was talking about anything more than... what she was talking about. Did you get that?“

I smile and nod. „She's dropping hints that you don't pick up on.“

„Yeah.“

He looks at his hands, clearly pensive. I wait for him to speak and wonder if this what it feels like for Lydia when she's trying to pry some truth out of me.

„When do you think will Hermione want kids?“ he asks.

„I think she once mentioned something along the lines of... not before thirty?“

_And_ I think maybe I should really just tell her Hermione to have this conversation with Ron herself instead of assuming I can handle it for her.

„Really? That's pretty late.“

„It's not that late. Even muggles tend to get pregnant later in life and, I mean, for wizards... Thirty is like, _young_.“

„I don't think it's young,“ Ron says.

„You know how seriously Hermione takes her work,“ I say gently.

Ron nods. „Yeah, I do. I already told her I'd never expect her to stay home alone with our baby. We'd do it fifty-fifty. I promised her that.“

„Did you mean it?“

„Yeah, absolutely.“

We're listening to the small noises of the cottage – the washing machine running, a tab leaking somewhere.

Ron grabs his wand and summons two butterbeers. We clink the bottles and both take a swig.

„Do you really want to have kids already?“ I ask him when I've put the bottle down again.

Ron shrugs, smiling at his butterbeer. „Yeah. I mean, in two years or so would be fine, too. But I just... Don't you think it's cool, having this little buddy with you?“

„I'm scared of having kids,“ I say.

Ron glances at me. „You are?“

I just nod.

„I think you'd be a great dad, Harry. But if you want to wait, that's obviously cool, too.“

„I thought you wanted our kids to be friends,“ I say, smiling vaguely at him.

Ron grins. „Oh, I do. And they will be. I'm not planning on having just one though. Maybe my youngest and your oldest will become besties.“

I have to admit, the image is kind of sweet. But I really hope Ron isn't expecting me to pop out babies anytime soon. Because that's definitely not happening.

„Talking about babies... Is there someone new I should know about? You haven't talked about that in quite a while.“

I shrug, trying not to think of my nose pressed into Draco's silky hair. „There's nothing to tell.“

„Really?“

„Yeah. I think I needed some time alone, you know. Figure stuff out.“

„Sounds reasonable.“

We sip our butterbeers until the sun has set.

„I think I should really go check on Hermione,“ Ron says, voice heavy.

„Yeah, probably.“ I get up, feeling more tired than would be justified.

* * *

I shouldn't have gotten this drunk, I know. It's never a good idea to be more than tipsy when you're looking for a one off.

If you're lucky, you're too pissed to find one. If you're unlucky, you  _do_ find one. Go home with him. Let them take your clothes off.

And then realize you really don't want to be doing that right now. You can't even get hard.

I have a hard time focusing enough to push this bloke away. Not because he'd be holding me down or anything, but because I'm so uncoordinated and I actually just really want a solid body to lean on.

„'M really sorry,“ I get out, the bloke with the nice brown eyes glancing down at me as I wrestle my body into a sitting position, away from his hands. „Just... so drunk.“

I think he sighs or something. „Yeah, I... can see that.“

„Yeah. 'M gonna... leave.“

He lets me fight with my trousers and shirt for a while, clearly not intending to help me. „Should I call anyone for you?“ he asks. „Or a cab maybe.“

„Cab would be – yeah. Nice.“

I think he's calling one while I give up with the buttons. I'm not going to get them through the holes of the shirt tonight.

„Your cab is here,“ the brown-eyed bloke informs me, black hair still tousled from my clumsy, greedy hands.

„Thanks,“ I manage. He's only wearing pants and I remember again why I wanted to have sex with him in the first place. „You're really handsome,“ I tell him earnestly.

The bloke raises his brows.

„Yeah, thanks. So are you. Which is why I wouldn't recommend you make this a habit – grinding your arse against some bloke and basically begging him to fuck you, only to change your mind last minute. Not everyone's as nice as I am.“

I frown. I  _know_ that sober-me would have a lot to say about this, that there are some things... wrong with what he just said, but I can't focus. So I let it slide.

He helps me to the cab and the driver looks rather worried.

„He not going to puke in my car, eh?“

Before I can answer, my pull for the night says something to the driver in a language I can't understand and, at least in my current condition, not even _identify_ (shame on me) and then the two are chatting for some minutes while I push the nausea down.

Brown-eyed bloke finally gives me one last nod. „Get home safe.“ Then he's gone and the driver asks me where we're going.

Pansy is always my first call whenever I've drank too much, when I need someone to crash with.

But Pansy is still working and... well, I don't know why. I give the driver another address.

* * *

I'm ripped out of my sleep by the doorbell ringing. I'm not too pissed – the dream I just had wasn't a pleasant one – but definitely confused.

Who would knock on my door at... two in the morning? I don't have that many friends and certainly not those who'd randomly drop by after a night of heavy drinking.

I pull the covers back and head to the door, only in my pajama bottoms (I easily overheat).

When I open the door, I find myself with an armful of Draco. Part of me thinks I should have known.

„Draco,“ I say, his arms instantly wrapping around me. He smells like tequila, sweat and... like another bloke. My heart clenches.

„Hey, everything okay?“

I try to get him upright, but he's swaying on his feet. His eyes are glossed over, smudged makeup on his cheeks. I like the way his blond hair is a mess. But I hate the reason for it.

„Hm-hm. Just... _really_ drunk.“

He plants his hands on my naked chest. My heart is slamming against his right palm.

When he slowly lets his head drop, I let it happen. I allow him to snuggle his face into the crook of my neck, sighing. My arms encircle his waist to make sure he doesn't fall.

As I feel his tongue darting out though, licking over my skin, I gently push him away.  
„Draco, you're sloshed. I'll put you to bed now, okay?“

He makes a whiny noise, something so cute and ridiculous and _sweet_ , it hurts.

„With you, yeah?“ he whispers, hanging onto me as I navigate him into the direction of my bedroom.

„No, not with me.“

„Why not?“

He's pressing his body against mine and I know how it is for most people when they're drunk. I know how touchy one gets. But if Draco keeps pressing against me like that, I'm going to be hard and that would be a problem.

„Draco,“ I say firmly. „I'm not the bloke you picked up tonight.“

The horrifying thought crosses my mind that maybe, Draco isn't aware of that. He really does seem _very_ out of it.

But he scrunches up his nose. „Yeah, I know. I left him. In bed, I mean. Too drunk.“

I ignore the shards of glass stinging in my chest.

I help him settle in my bed and try not to think about how we used to sleep in here together. And do other things than sleep as well.

„I love it here,“ Draco murmurs, snuggling into my covers. Smelling them. I stomp down everything I'm feeling and tuck him in. Draco sighs. „I love it when _you're_ here.“

„Hm-hm. You're drunk.“ I don't know what else to say.

I try to back away, but Draco grabs my hand. „Stay with me,“ he murmurs.

„I can't.“

The blond's lip starts trembling. „Harry,“ he whispers. „Don't leave me.“

At his broken voice, I throw some of my caution out of the window and tell him a simple truth: „You have me, Draco. I couldn't leave, even if I wanted to.“

_But you could_ . I don't say  _that_ truth out loud. He knows it better than I do.

He sighs contently, burying his face in my pillow. As gently as I can, I pull my hand away.

He grunts. „Stay.“

„I'm here. Right in the next room, yeah?“

When Draco is doing the walk of shame the next day, I'm not sure how I should be acting.

He appears in the clothes from yesterday, hair a mess, face crumpled. Certainly with a pounding headache.

„Hey, sunshine,“ I say, looking at him from my place at the kitchen counter. I'm making breakfast.

„Hi.“ He bites his lips and scrunches his nose, just a little. „Um... I'm really sorry for yesterday.“

„Technically today. But, yeah.“ I don't know what else to say. „Are you thirsty?“

He nods eagerly and I pour him a glass of water. Draco chugs it, then sits on my table, tentatively.

I can't help but wonder why this isn't what it's always like. It seems so ridiculous in that moment, that he's ever left. He just  _belongs_ here.

„Wasn't Pansy with you yesterday?“ I ask him, heading over to the table with two plates of eggs.

Scrambled, because that's how Draco likes them.

„She was. Until she wasn't. I think she found a bi bloke and went home with him.“

He's blushing a little. „I'm truly so sorry. I've been stupid, yesterday. I shouldn't have gotten so wasted all alone.“

„Well, you weren't alone.“

I'm not looking at him.

There is quite a long pause before Draco answers. „No, I wasn't. But that was stupid, too.“

„It was,“ I agree. Dangerous, even,

„Are you mad at me?“ The questions is asked quietly.

I keep looking at my eggs. Sometimes I think it's dumb, to be such a Gryffindor with a Slytherin. It makes you vulnerable.

But I don't think I've ever learned how to not be vulnerable, even though I wish I had.

„I don't know. I think I am, but I know I shouldn't be. So... yes and no.“

„Would you... rather not hear about me with other blokes?“

Annoyance pulses through me. I put my fork down. „Do you like hearing about me with other people?“

Draco pauses. He does that an awful lot today.  
„Well... we're friends. I think that involves telling each other about our love lives, right?“

I can just so keep from snorting.

The Gryffindor time is up.

„Yeah, sure,“ I say. „Friends.“


	8. Chapter 7

I'm met with almost uncomfortable warmth when I leave Lydia's office.

I know she's frustrated with me (or would be, if therapists got frustrated – it seems like they never) because, after that one session, I've been blocking any conversation about my childhood again.

I think she thinks that I'm doing that because I don't want the pain that comes with that. I also think she thinks it would bring the big breakthrough.

But _I_ think she's wrong. Talking about my childhood would hurt, sure, but I'm not someone who can't take pain. I'd actually say my pain tolerance is really fucking high.

I just don't see the point. I know my childhood was fucked up. I don't blame myself or anything. What good would it do to relive it?

„How'd it go?“ 

I'm startled by Hermione's sudden appearance. She must have waited right next to the entrance, but I didn't see her.

Talk about being too much in my head. 

Even though I'm not the type for that, really. I never think so much.

Maybe this therapy thing wasn't the best idea. I don't like the way Lydia makes me reminisce, makes me _think_ so fucking much.

I quite like listening to my gut.

„It was okay. Do you want to get dinner?“

Hermione nods, smiling.

Over ramen and iced teas, Hermione says: „So, um... Pansy asked me if we wanted to go out tonight. The four of us, together.“

I stop chewing.

„Um... do you want to?“

She lifts her shoulders. Drops them. „I mean, sure. It's more fun in a group, isn't it?“

„I'm pretty sure they'd want to go to a gay club.“

„You know that I like gay clubs. Way less creepy blokes trying to hit on you.“

I do know that. I was just trying to buy time.

My gut tells me that it's _not_ a good idea to go partying with Draco right now. It's just been a week since he showed up at mine pissed out of his mind, coming from another bloke.

I have, somehow, digested it, but not to the extent of wanting to experience something like that again so soon.

„I don't know, Hermione,“ I say.

„I'm sure it would be fun. I don't think Draco will be trying to pull with you there,“ she adds, reading my concerns correctly.

„Hermione...“

„Please, Harry? I think it would be nice.“

I surrender, knowing that I'll probably regret it.

I'm starting to sweat and I'm not even dancing. Mostly just sitting at the bar. 

Pansy and Hermione (such a traitor) have been gone for almost an hour now, apparently having unhealthy amounts of energy at their disposal. And Pansy is wearing heels so high, she's almost as tall as I am.

„Why hit the club if you're not going to dance?“

Draco eyes me, exasperated, but somehow... fond at the same time. I try not to look at him too often or too closely.

Because he looks fucking stunning. Those tight jeans ought to be illegal. And why does he feel like he needs to have his shirt half-open? He's killing me.

„You know that I don't dance,“ I say, clutching to my drink for dear life.

Draco's eyes have this mischievous look that I know means trouble. Doesn't he always, in the end?

„I'm not having you sit here the whole night. Come on.“

Slender, pale fingers are prying my hand open.

„Draco, no.“

But he doesn't listen. He's pulling me off my chair.

„Relax, Harry. Have some _fun_.“

I'm bad at that, I want to tell him. But he knows it already.

I let him pull me into the middle of the dancefloor, trying to ignore the looks send our way.

„I can't dance,“ I say, now actually panicking.

Draco _smirks_.

„Yeah you can.“

„For real, I can't. I'll look ridiculous.“

Draco steps closer. Puts my hands on his hips. „Dancing is almost exactly like fucking. And I _know_ you're good at that.“

My mouth goes dry. „You're... You're a fucking arsehole, Draco.“

His gaze flickers. „Sorry. But... you _can_ dance. Just listen to the beat.“

I try to, but am quickly distracted by Draco.

I knew this already, have seen it a couple times, but it knocks me dead again. Draco can dance.

And he does it with a look in his eyes that says _watch me_.

_Watch me, Harry_ .

Of course I do. How could I ever not?

I don't know who it is that's pulling the other closer. It's probably both of us.

With Draco's wrists locked behind my head, his body gyrating, feeling him against me, feeling his  _breath_ ... I can't think anymore. 

I pull him closer until we're flush. Until we're kissing.

I make this pathetic noise against him, but it's quickly swallowed by his sweet moans. He pulls on my bottom lip and then he allows me to claim his mouth.

„Fuck,“ I breathe against him, wanting to tell him how much I've missed him, but I can't, because I need to kiss him again first.

I wish I could say we're both sloshed, but we're not. Tipsy at most. Not drunk enough to blame it all on the alcohol.

I blame it on him. On us. We're somehow inevitable.

„I want you to fuck me,“ Draco says into my ear and I can feel how hard he is. If he's burning for this only half as much as I am, he's already engulfed in flames.

„Yes,“ I can only say.

I want to pull him off the dancefloor, out of the club and apparate us him, but Draco seems to have different plans.

I follow him until he's pulled us into the loos.

„In the bathroom?“ I ask, frowning. „Really, Draco?“

He just ravishes my mouth again, dragging me into a free stall, locking the door behind us.

I stare into his eyes and I know I won't say no. But I  _do_ say: „I'd rather do this in a bed.“

His eyes are dark with lust, but also hard: „I'd rather not. It's just fucking, Harry, okay?“

He doesn't say it in a mean way, but my stomach is turning anway.

„I'm just fucking?“

Draco sighs. Threads his hand through my hair. „No. You're my friend. My best one aside Pansy. But she's basically my sister. I care for you, you know that. But we're not boyfriends.“

He backs away just a little and I can tell he doesn't want to. But he raises his brows and his voice is earnest when he says: „If you don't want that, that's okay. I know you're not really one for casual...“

I shut him up by pressing him against the door and kissing him hard.

No, I'm not good with casual. But I already know that there is nothing casual about Draco for me, so fuck it.

Or better, fuck him. Because I really, really want to.

And maybe he's right. It's not like we'd be crossing a line. We've done it before, so... we'll be fine.

Hands clumsy from eagerness get jeans open. I help Draco yank his off. He wants to just pull them to his thighs, but I insist on taking them all off. He doesn't object.

As soon as his legs are bare, I summon lube. 

This is not the time for long foreplay, for teasing and petting, even though I love all of that.

I slide the first finger into Draco, him facing the door, and try not to think about that the next time someone does that, it probably won't be me. He pushes against me, sighing sweetly. Kisses me messily when I put the second finger in, my body almost flush with his.

I want to work in a third, but Draco won't let me.

I take his shoulder, turn him around and we kiss until Draco is biting at my lips.

„Will you fuck me anytime soon or do I have to do it myself?“

Instead of answering, I slide my hands over the curve of his arse, gripping the juncture of his arse and thighs, lifting him. His legs wrap around my waist as I push him against the closed door.

Draco stares into my eyes, panting already. „Harry,“ he whispers and then he's kissing me and it makes me forget that this isn't like the last times we've had sex.

Everything fades away but him. My world is all Draco Malfoy.

I push inside him on a slow slide, all the way, like Draco prefers. He's moaning, head dropping against the wall, crease on his forehead.

I'm hurting at the sight.

„I didn't think I'd get to see that again,“ I say.

Draco is gripping to me hard now. „Fuck me,“ he says against my mouth and so I do.

I want to make it last, but I can't. I've gone too long without this to do so.

I'm going fast from the start and Draco's moans, his fingers digging into me make me relent, submit to his wishes. I take him harder, because he's begging me to.

Not that I wouldn't want the same. 

But I also don't want it to end. I'd be content to slowmotion-fuck him against this dirty door for hours.

Way too soon, I feel Draco nearing the edge. I lick that sensitive spot right under his jaw and he moans my name. Two more thrusts that I know hit his prostate dead-on and he's gone.

He's clenching around me, going impossibly tighter, and that's when I lose it too.

„Draco, Draco, Draco...“ I'm babbling as I drive into him, making the door rattle. He's clinging to me, all around me, so close. I come inside him. Ride out my orgasm on some more erratic, then slowing whips of my hips.

Finally, I still. His arms are still around me. He's stroking the back of my neck. I kiss the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, still inside him.

Slowly, I inch out. He's a little wobbly on his feet, so I pull him close. To my chest. Steady him. I know that my cum is running down his thighs right now and a surge of possessiveness takes my breath away. I kiss the top of Draco's head.

He stays for a long time in my arms. But eventually, he pulls away. Picks up his jeans and puts them on.

Only then, he looks at me again.

„Draco,“ I say. I don't think there is more to add to that.

„Harry.“

I move in to kiss him. He turns his head away. „Harry.“ His voice is barely audible. Broken.

My heart is breaking again.

„Why can't we be together?“ I ask.

He looks up at me, defiance and pain in his eyes. „Because we don't work. We've tried it, remember?“

„It would be different this time.“

„No, it wouldn't be. Weasley and his family still hate me. The public still hates me. I'm not going through that again.“

„Not even for me?“

I want to take it back the moment I asked. Who the hell do I think I am?

„Sorry, I... That was stupid. Of course you wouldn't -“

Draco shuts me up with a finger to my lips. His hand cups my cheek. „Harry, I'd do it  _only_ for you. If I thought we'd be happy, I would. But we weren't.“ He swallows, but his gaze remains steady and unrelenting. „I made you sad. We were fighting all the time, don't you remember? I don't want that to happen to us again.“

I hear what he's saying, but it's like... I know he must be lying. I know this is just him gently letting me down.

I could say now I'm ready to try harder, to do everything that needs to be done so that we can be together. That Hermione and I will make Ron accept it.

That, really,  _this_ is what'll kill us – so close, but not close enough.

I could tell Draco that I can't watch him with other blokes. That it kills me, knowing he is having sex with other men.

I'm not saying any of that. 

Because I know he doesn't love me the way I love him. He can't – it's impossible. I love him in a way that scares me.

I've been told before that I love firecely, and I guess thinking of Sirius and even Ginny, there is some truth to that.

But I've never felt something like this before. It's so terrifying, knowing that this one person is able to destroy me without even trying.

„Harry?“

I must have been silent for too long.

„Okay,“ is all I say.

Draco's eyes are searching mine. „Look, if this was a mistake... We're not doing it again. But – we're still friends, right?“

I nod numbly. I'd probably say yes to anything right now.

„I... have to find Hermione.“ I stumble out of the stall.  


„Alright,“ I hear Draco say. But I'm not looking back.

Lydia crosses her legs, leaning back.

„Why did you make the decision to sleep with Draco, if you thought beforehand that it might be a mistake?“

I kind of gape at her. „Um... I wouldn't really call it a decision. I mean, I just... really wanted to, I guess.“

Lydia looks at her notebook, then at me. „Alright, then why did you go out with Draco and his friend in the first place? You said you thought it might be a bad idea.“

I sigh. „Yeah, I know. But Hermione really wanted to go and I thought... I mean, I should be okay with it, right? With Draco sleeping with people. That should be okay with me.“

„We've talked about feelings not being rational decisions. There is no _should_. It's only about what you _do_ feel, not what you think you _should_ be feeling.“

I scratch the back of my hand. „I think it was stupid to sleep with him.“

„Why?“

„Because now I'm thinking about him every fucking minute.“

It's so exhausting. I feel stretched too thin. Like my ribcage could break apart any second and my heart slip to the floor, under my dragging feet.

„Are you still seeing each other?“

„No,“ I say immediately. „I mean, we're hanging out. Twice, since that time. We usually hang out once a week, so that's normal.“ I fall silent.

Nothing about hanging out with Draco right now is normal.

„Do you want to be hanging out with him, Harry?“

I look at Lydia, her wise eyes. They always make me uncomfortable, the way they're boring into me.

„I... want to do more than just hanging out.“

„Have you talked to Draco about it?“

I squirm and avoid her gaze. „A little. He knows that I'd... give it another shot. Us. But he says that it won't work out. That we have to stay friends.“

„And why is that Draco's decision alone?“

I frown at her. „It's not.“

„No?“

„No! It takes two for any kind of relationship.“

„You're right.“

She lets me squirm. My heart is pounding too hard. „I'm not just doing what he says,“ I say loudly.

She makes me wait. Leaves me hanging.

„Am I?“ I ask, quiet now.

„I think you're just doing what he wants.“

I want to tell her no. „Draco isn't like that. He's not... He gives a shit about other people.“

„I don't doubt that.“

I stare at her, angry. „Then what are you saying?“

Not anything, apparently.

„I'm just – Look, Draco and I, we both want our relationship to work! Like, we don't want to lose each other. And Draco says we wouldn't work as a couple, so...“

„Why are you so sure that Draco is right? Do you agree with him?“

I open my mouth. Close it again. „Not necessarily. But... I can't force anyone to be my boyfriend.“

„No, that's not what I'm trying to tell you. But no one can force you to be their friend, either.“

„Draco's not forcing me to be his friend.“

Another silence.

„Do you feel like what you're doing right now helps to maintain a healthy relationship between the two of you? Are you happy with how it is? Do you feel safe and cared for?“

I'm quiet for a long time.

„No.“

„Why not? What do you need to change?“

This time, the silence stretches for almost ten minutes. Ten minutes, in which I'm quiet. Look at my lap.

„I don't know.“

Lydia waits.

„I guess, I... I can't just be friends. Right now. Because it... fucking hurts.“

I look up and swallow. „It fucking hurts being his friend.“

Lydia nods, face soft.

„But I don't want to hurt Draco by cutting him off.“

I'm not sure I can.

„Sometimes hurting people is inevitable.“

„It's the worst I can think of. Hurting him.“

I love Draco. It's as simple as that. And while I don't believe he reciprocates those feelings, I do think he really cares about me. I know he does.

I want him to be happy. I want to be there for him.

But is it really good, trying to be his friend, when I'll only get bitter? When we'll always have to tiptoe around certain topics?

I won't be able to ever be really honest with him.

„If we go on like this... I could end up hurting him anyway, right?“

„Probably, yes. But not only him, Harry.“

„I'm hurting either way. It doesn't matter.“

Lydia regards me with one of those glances that make me hyper uneasy.

„Caring for and about others is great. I believe many people don't do it enough.“

A little confused by this change in the subject, I blink at her.

„But while I always encourage people to think about the consequences to their actions, how they might affect others, in the end, we're all selfish creatures. We are right to be.“

She looks at me with kind eyes. „You have to put yourself first, Harry. At least sometimes. Your feelings are just as important as Draco's.“

„Not to me.“

I think I almost have her – she's almost sighing. Almost.

„It has become a horrible cliché, but that doesn't make it any less true: If you don't love yourself, if you don't take _care_ of yourself, giving love and taking care of others becomes a lot harder.“

I don't agree with her at all. One thing I like to think I'm good at is helping people.

Well, not always. But often enough.

„But I'm not really taking care of myself by cutting Draco off,“ I say. „It's not like I _want_ to. I just... I don't know what to do. There is not really anything I can do, I think.“

Lydia refolds her hands. „I can't tell you what you should do. All I can say is that you shouldn't make this decision based on what is right for Draco.“

* * *

The day is warm enough to be outside without a jacket, but no toot hot. No sweaty armpits – the perfect weather.

I cross my legs, flipping my fringe out of my face. The sun on my pale skin must make my eyeshadow glitter.

I turn to Harry, next to me on the bench.

My pretty bubble hits a wall, bouncing back. Something is up with Harry.

„Everything alright?“ I ask, studying Harry's face. The Gryffindor won't look at me at first.

I lean forward, put a hand on his shoulder. „Harry?“

Now the brunet does turn to me, green eyes devastating in the bright sun.

„I don't think I can do this anymore, Draco,“ he says, quietly.

The sun disappears.

I've always been the moon, anyway. I don't shine on my own.

„Do what?“

I know that it has been stupid of me to give in that night at the club. Harry doesn't really do the whole casual sex thing. If I'm honest, I don't either. With Harry, at least.

But I thought we've managed to move past that. It's been... three weeks? I thought we were fine.

„This.“ He gestures between the two of us. Stupid Gryffindor he is, he turns to me, facing me. „You're not just a friend to me, Draco.“

I'm not a Gryffindor so I look at my knees. „There is nothing  _just_ about being friends,“ I say.

„Yeah, that's true, but – you're still not a friend to me.“

I lift my gaze, eyes boring into his. „We've been friends for years now, Harry. Pretty much since -“

Since he's tried to kill himself. We've been enemies and then we've been  _friends_ . Good friends.

Why is he saying this now?

„Things change,“ he just says.

I look to the side, finger clutching my coffee cup so hard, I'll probably break it.

„So what are you saying, Harry? That we don't see each other anymore?“

Harry nods and the pain on his face does nothing to console me.

„Alright, Potter. If that's what you want.“ I want to get up and leave, but Harry takes my wrist. Makes me smile.

„Unless you want to give dating me a shot again.“

The hope in his face almost kills me. My eyes bore into him and he actually flinches. „Dating doesn't  _work_ , Harry. Why can't you get that?“

„Because I don't think it's true! I think it'd be different this time. My friends would accept you. It wouldn't come as such a shock to the public anymore. We could make it work.“

I pull my hand away. „You're Harry Potter. And I'm Draco Malfoy. That is never going to change. Never, Potter, okay? We're not meant to be.“

Harry's eyes are full of fire. It's been a while since I've seen him like that. „I don't believe that. I think we match really fucking well.“

He takes my hand again. „Let me love you right, Draco. I know I can.“

I look up and shake my head. But Harry isn't finished yet. „Do you remember that day in the rain? On that bench?“

Of course I do. I don't think I'll ever forget.

It was the day I realized that I loved Harry. I had been crushing on him forever, but in that moment, I was absolutely certain for the first time that I  _loved_ him.

„Yes,“ I say quietly.

„You told me what you think love is. What I call the _always_ feeling.“ Harry's eyes are searching mine. „That's how I feel about you, Draco.“

I want to throw myself into his arms and kiss him silly. I want to cry and laugh and tell him, _me too_. But I don't.

I focus on the pain ripping me apart. „You shouldn't.“

Harry stumbles back as if I hit him. „Why would you say that?“

„Because it's true! I'm not... I can't make you happy.“

„You do.“

But I don't. I don't, because I'm too selfish, too fucked up for someone like Harry.

I love him, but I don't think I can ever love him right.

I look up at him. I'll remember the way he's looking at me. Keep it in my heart. Maybe knowing that Harry used to love me will be enough to carry me through life.

„Really, Draco? You'll just leave?“ His voice is choked.

„You're the one that said you don't want to be friends.“

Desperation contorts Harry's face. „I _can't_ be friends. It's driving me insane. I can't pretend I'd be okay talking to you about your pulls or that it wouldn't bother me that I can't hold your hand or kiss you or... I can't have half of you. I thought I could, I thought it'd be better than nothing, but I _can't_.“

„Okay,“ I say.

Harry looks like he's either about to cry or set the whole world on fire. He probably could.

One last look at me, then he turns to go.

I reach out. Turn him around to me. I stand on my toes and kiss him – too briefly to really feel it.

„You taught me always, Harry. I'll never forget that.“

A tear is now rolling over Harry's cheek. „It doesn't have to be over.“

I smile and step back. „It already is.“

* * *

„Bye, guys.“ I'm waving after Jenna, who gives me a genuine smile. I'll miss her when she goes off to train with the Aurors.

When all my students are gone, I don't leave the office right away. I lean against the wall and breathe deeply.

There are bad days and then there are unbearable days. Today is a bad day, but right now, my ribcage is caving in, my heart swollen and frantic.

I'm familiar with missing people. I've missed my friends during the never ending summers in Privet Drive. I've missed Sirius after he died, so much so, sometimes it felt like part of me died with him. I've missed Ginny after we split.

And now I'm missing Draco.

I don't think I fully realized how big of a part he has played in my life before now. It feels like he has been everywhere – in my sheets, my body and my mind.

Thoughts of Draco used to be what put a smile on my face when I was going about my day.

Now they're taking my breath away. Sometimes it feels like I'll come out of my body with the force of my pain.

I think it might be best to squeeze in an extra session with Lydia this week.

* * *

„Slow down, Draco.“

I push Pansy away and down my... I don't know, umpteenth shot of the night. The room is spinning already. But it's not enough.

„Draco!“ 

„Lemme go, Pans.“ I stumble back to the dancefloor and into the arms of a bloke I've never seen before. I smile widely and soon, we're kissing. I hardly feel it, my lips are so numb.

I think I've gone blind. All I see are blurs. Softened edges and flashing lights.

We might have left the dancefloor, or maybe not, I'm not really sure. I think I'm lying down, but... who knows. Sharp cologne stings in my nose. I can't move my limbs. My hands are flailing around like broken chicken wings.

„Get off him!“

I don't know who is speaking, but I _know_ that voice. I love that voice.

„Chill out, he wants it.“

„He's barely conscious, arsehole. Get the fuck out of here, _now_.“

I wish I could open my eyes and see what's happening, but my eyelids must be glued shut.

„Come here, love. I've got you.“

Soft, small hands are pulling on me, pulling me up. My arm is sliding around a soft body.

„Hey! Hey, could you please help me get him to a cab?“

Another pair of hands, stronger now, join the first pair on my body.

I'm dragged, somehow upright, even tough I really just want to lie down. So badly.

„Don't wanna,“ I mumble, voice so strange.

„Almost there.“

Fresh air is carressing my face and I inhale deeply.

A wave of nausea rises in me.

„I think I'm gonna...“ I double over and throw up. My mouth tastes foul. My throat is burning and my stomach heaving.

„Fuck, Drake.“ A sigh. Gentle hands in my hair. Rough asphalt under my knees. „It's okay, love. I've got you. I'm here.“

I wake up, instantly wishing I was dead. My whole body hurts, my head definitely winning first place. Strong runner-up my stomach, which seems to try turning inside out.

I manage to force my eyes open.

Pansy is looking at me from her bed, brows knit together.

„It's enough, Draco.“

It's way too early to deal with a voice that grave. I groan and let my head fall back on the pillow. Then I realize I'll puke again, so I wrestle my body out of bed and into our bathroom, just barely making it in time to the toilet.

I'm crouching in front of it, feeling absolutely _miserable_. Not like that would be news.

Pansy doesn't come after me.

When I get back into the main room, at least thirty minutes later, it smells like coffee. Pansy hands me a cup.

Her face is hard.

„Sorry I puked on you yesterday,“ I say. I'm pretty sure I have, even though I can barely remember.

Pansy fixates me with a stare that would intimidate Bellatrix.

„It is _enough_ , Draco. I love you and I understand that you're hurting, but you'll stop now.“

„Stop what?“

I take a swig from my coffee, hoping it'll stay down. Needing the caffeine to kickstart my system and cleanse me from inside.

„This fucking self-destructive behaviour! You do realize what could have happened if I hadn't been there last night, right?“

I just take another sip.

„You could have gotten _raped_. Or killed. Or robbed or _anything_ , because you were completely out of it!“

„Was I?“ I snicker.

Before I know what's happening, Pansy has yanked the cup out of my hands and thrown it to the floor. It shatters with a bang.

„This is not fucking funny! Who the fuck are you, Draco? Huh? Do you want to die or what?“

„Don't be fucking ridiculous. I don't want to die, I want to have _fun_.“

„No, you want to punish yourself. Which I somehow even get, since you've been the biggest idiot ever, but whatever.“

She flicks her wand, the cup putting itself back together, coffee vanishing from the floor.

„A month of stumbling through clubs half-conscious is more than enough. I've had it, Drake.“

„You don't have to come with me,“ I grumble, not able to meet her eyes.

She scoffs. „Certainly. I'll just let you get raped then.“

I give her a look. „No muggle could rape me.“

„Draco, you weren't even able to open your eyes when I got to you yesterday.“

I know she's right, so I look to the side, biting my lip.

Pansy pulls a chair close so she's facing me, sitting down and taking my hands.

„You have to promise me to take better care of yourself.“

I press my teeth together.

„Draco Lucius Malfoy.“

„Yes, alright. I will.“

I meet her eyes. When I see how terrified she is, I squeeze her hands. „I'm really not trying to kill myself, Pans. Honestly. And I'm sorry about last night. It was stupid, I know.“

An almost smile grazes her lips. „If you have to get blacked out drunk, do it here, in our flat. Okay?“

„Okay.“

She leans back in her chair and takes a sip from her own, unbroken and unspilt cup, then handing it to me.

„And now you have to explain something to me.“

I wait.

„Why did you let Harry go? You're clearly absolutely mad for him and he is for you. Why?“

„Because we don't work, Pansy.“

„You keep saying that, but I don't get. Why wouldn't you work? I think you work well. You're adorable together.“

Daggers, several of them, stab me.

„Because he's _Harry Potter_.“

Pansy shrugs, unimpressed. „He clearly wants you. And it's not like the both of you don't know how to handle some nasty press.“

„We didn't manage the first time around.“

„I don't think you really tried, Draco.“

„I _did_!“

Pansy gives me a long look. „I think you're lying. I don't believe you're not with him because of the press. Or his friends. Because Hermione actually _likes_ you now and I'm sure her buffon of a fiancé will come around.“

I'm silent.

„Draco? Why? You've been acting like a couple for so long now, honestly, I don't get why you -“

„Because he'll fucking leave me, okay?“

The words come out as a shout and Pansy blinks at me, lips parting. I'm breathing heavily. „Because I'm horrible with people. I'll fuck it up like I did the first time. I made him _unhappy_ , Pansy. Of course I did! That's how it always goes with me. And sooner or later, Harry will realize that, and he'll stop loving me and he'll leave me for someone better.“

I stare at Pansy, chest rising and falling rapidly. „Happy now?“

Pansy gets up and I'm a little surprised when she sits down on my lap. I try for a glare. „You know that I'm the one sitting on other people's lap.“

She grins and plants a kiss atop my head. „You're not half as cold or tough as you think, Draco. And not half as mean.“

„Haha, very funny.“

„You don't fuck everything up. And I don't believe you're horrible with people.“

„But I am.“

„No, you're not. You're pretty good with me. I have never stopped loving you, even though you really pulled some shit.“

„Okay, but you're crazy.“

Pansy laughs and gets up off my lap, a hand on my cheek. „Love, you're overthinking. Just go to Harry, tell him you're sorry, and finally allow him to fuck your brains out.“

„It's not that easy,“ I say.

Pansy rolls her eyes and finishes her coffee.

„No, love never is. But we don't get a say in it anyway.“

I cross my arms. Pansy tilts her head and sighs. „You can't decide not to love him, Draco. You already do. Either you woman up and go for it or you spend the rest of your life regretting not to have at least tried. What's it gonna be?“

It takes me another two weeks to mull it over, missing Harry and getting chided at work for how distracted I am.

Pansy is impatient with me, but doesn't try talking to me about it again.

All I really want to do is talk to _Harry_ , but even I am aware that I need to know what _I_ want, first. I've already put him through enough.

If I'm in it, I'll have to be _all_ in, this time. I know that.

No fucking in dirty loos. No _just friends_ , no snuggling when drunk. No sleeping in his bed after coming from another bloke.

All in.

The problem is, I know I'm bad at that. Always have been.

But then again, if I can't be for Harry, will I ever?

Despite us bonding over Pansy, Hermione is more than a little surprised at having me pick her up from work, glamour on so no Ministry employee will hex me.

„Hermione.“ I catch up to her as she's basically running toward the next floo.

She throws me an irritated look. „Who... _Draco?_ “

I allowed her to briefly look through my glamour. „Yes. I need your help.“

When I was a kid, I loved the elaborate parties at the Manor. At least when I got to celebrate them with Pansy.

I know that Harry isn't as in love with all those shiny, unnecessary things as I am, but I remember him saying that he does appreciate it from time to time.

He's never said it in those words, but I've read between the lines that his muggle relatives never really threw parties for him. And even though I'm sure the Weasleys did celebrate his birthdays, it seems to me like Harry hasn't had a lot of _real_ parties thrown for him.

So I'll change that.


	9. Chapter 8

One thousand golden balloons, shimmering in the air, floating above our heads. Music – all his favourite songs – coming from everywhere and nowhere. Plush carperts are muffling steps that aren't there. I don't dare to move. Because what if I missed him walking in?

Champagne is sparkling. I spelled it so. If I hadn't, the sparkles might have been long gone already. „I love your flat,“ Longbottom says. One of his friends that I invited just for him. „It's so chic.“

I thank him, my eyes never leaving the door. Wide open.

I don't bother telling him that this is _Harry's_ flat. But I do wonder why Longbottom has never been here before. Why so many of Harry's friends apparently haven't.

My glass isn't empty yet. I don't want to be drunk.

My gaze wanders over to the cake I had made for him. A birthday cake, even though it's going to be August already if he doesn't show up soon.

If I had my way, there would be glitter all over the floor. He doesn't love shiny things like I do, so there is only a little bit of glitter on my face. Maybe some in my hair.

My suit is black, with a green tie. Because he likes that. Kinky bastard he is.

„Draco? Do you think we should...“ I don't look at Hermione shifting awkwardly next to me.

She's not _my_ friend. All of them, they're not _my_ friends. But they are here, asking stupid questions, because it's not really my party, either.

It's his. I only threw this party for him.

„No,“ I say. „He'll be here.“

But half an hour later, he still hasn't shown. I'm here, in the midst of his flat, full of all these balloons, the cake and the buffet, champagne and his favourite wine.

All of his friends are here.

Well, almost all. George Weasley didn't want to come, not with me being the one inviting. Neither did Seamus Finnigan, but that's okay.

There are enough people _here_ , eyeing me suspiciously.

I'm not sure Weasley would've come if it wasn't for Hermione. She helped me organize the party, with Pansy. We've went shopping for three solid hours, buying the booze and the balloons and I almost had a mental breakdown when it came to choosing snacks and I realized I didn't know if Harry liked sweet or salty snacks better.

Hermione helped me out and Pansy told me to pull myself together.

I have, I _am_ , but I feel myself slipping.

He should have been here an hour ago. Hermione told him she and Ron would be waiting for him at his flat and Harry said he'd _be there_.

They didn't tell him about me, but what if he somehow found out? What if he arrived here, noticed the many people in his flat, cast a Revelio or something and decided that he doesn't want to spend his birthday with me?

„Calm down.“ Pansy hands me another glass of champagne. „I'm sure he's just running late.“

„An hour? No, he must have heard. He must... I'm sure he doesn't want to see me.“

I'm so upset, I almost miss the door opening.

Luckily, Hermione would never, so she's next to me in a second, bellowing: „Everyone quiet!“

The bunch of Gryffindors (plus one or two Ravenclaws, I think) shut their mouth for the first time today.

My heart is hammering. The door opens, cautiously. Harry must have heard us in the hallway.

He walks in, shaggy hair, tired eyes.

„Happy Birthday!“ They're all so loud, he probably can't hear me. But he _sees_ me.

He sees me first. Before anyone else.

I smile at him.

His mouth opens. „Um...“

People are erupting in laughter.

I don't stand a chance against all those Gryffindors, so I just watch them – Weasley jumping him first, clapping his back, hugging him tight. Hermione, teary-eyed, grinning. The She-Weasel and Thomas and Luna. Longbottom squeezing his arm.

„Go,“ Pansy says into my ear as Longbottom steps back, giving me a light shove.

I force my legs to move, toward Harry. My heart is beating out of my chest.

Emerald eyes are fixated on my face.

„Draco? What... I don't understand.“

I swallow and I know, for once, he can see all of my anxiety. My insecurity.

„Happy Birthday, Harry.“

His eyes flicker to the balloons, the huge cake. Then back to me. „Was that... you?“

I nod, suddenly aware that I'm still holding that stupid glass of champagne. „Yes. I thought it was about time someone threw a party for you. I, ah, wanted to surprise you.“

I swallow, heart beating sickeningly fast. „Because I love you. And I'm sorry. And I'm here because I want you back.“

Harry's jaw drops. „Draco...“

„It's okay if you need time. I'm sorry for dropping it all on you like that, but I just – I needed you to know it. And tonight, I want you to have fun.“

I don't find the right words, but Harry doesn't seem to mind so much. He looks rather incredulous, once again taking it all in.

„You invited my friends?“

I nod, then correct myself: „I asked Hermione to. But, yes. George and Finnigan didn't want to come because of me, but I'm supposed to tell you that they'd be happy to celebrate with you another time. And they wish you all the best.“

Harry can only nod. „Um, yeah. Thanks. Draco?“

„Yes?“

My heartbeat is still kicking, making it hard to form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.

„This is... really awesome. I... no one has ever done something like this for me before.“

I preen at his praise. At the look in his eyes.

„I'm happy you like it.“

Weasley and Hermione are looking at us. I step back. „I've got cake. It's not treacle tart because I wanted something bigger, but there's some treacle in there and I know you like chocolate, too, so...“

The smile on Harry's face shuts me up and breaks my heart.

„It's amazing, Draco. All of it.“

I shut my stupid mouth and smile and him. Nod at him and watch him join his friends.

Harry and I don't talk very much the next hours. He's mostly with his friends, catching up. Smiling.

Often, he'll pull me next to him. His hand is casually resting on my lower back while he's talking to Longbottom. His fingers are brushing mine, pinkies catching from time to time as he's laughing at Weasley's jokes. When he's conversing with Luna about Nargles (whatever the fuck that is – I have no idea) he is stroking the nape of my neck.

I know what he's doing and it makes me feel like I'm made of clouds. Like I'd join the balloons floating above our heads any minute.

Despite my head full of sugar clouds, I do notice Hermione and Pansy being wrapped up in conversation for the better part of the evening, sitting very close.

It's around three a.m. already when the first people finally leave. Usually, I'd be happy that the party was such a success – people are dancing, Luna and Ginny even making out eventually, Harry's mouth twisting. Then he's blushing. Looking at me. Rolling his eyes.

Laughing.

„Draco, darling.“ Pansy falls into my arms around half past three, smelling of vodka and sugar and I hold her up, for once being the sober one (not that I'm _sober_ , but I'm not _drunk_ ).

„Hermione's bringing me home,“ she says and I stroke her back. Kiss her cheek.

„I'll see you... um, later, I guess?“

Harry locks eyes with me.

„Come on, Pansy.“ Hermione's gaze is affectionate as she slings an arm around Pansy's waist and escorts her to the door.

„I'll be off, too, I guess,“ Weasley says, joining us, and I can't help but stiffen. „Or do you want me to help you clean up?“

„Nah, I'm good. But thanks, man.“ Harry smiles at him.

Weasley nods. Then he looks at me. I lift my chin, feeling the haughty expression I wear so well change my face.

It takes me a lot, _lot_ of willpower to reign it in. Let Weasley see that I'm actually wary.

„Good job, Ferret,“ he says, nodding at me. „That cake was dope.“

I almost smile, that's how relieved I am. Relieved enough to let the _Ferret_ slide. „Everyone likes chocolate.“

„Actually, no. My brother Percy doesn't.“ Weasley frowns, thinking. „But Percy's just weird.“

Harry and Weasley grin at each other.

„Okay, mate. I'll see you next week?“

„Sure.“

Harry hugs him, a little tighter than he normally would.

Before he leaves, Weasley nods at me. I nod back and never has a simple nod made me this happy.

It's past four in the morning until everyone is gone.

Harry looks at me, living room a huge mess. But a glittery one, at least.

I blink up at him. „Do you want me to go, too?“

He bites his lip. „That might be better, since it's four a.m., but... no. I really don't want you to go.“

He steps a little bit closer. My eyes are on his and his only.

„I'm really scared,“ I admit. A breath of air, the night drawing the confession from my lips.

„Me too.“

Harry's hands come up to cup my face. „Did you mean it? What you said before?“

I nod, putting my hands on his chest. Feeling his heartbeat.

It's been my favourite song since I've first heard it.

„I love you, Harry. I have for a long time. Honestly, I can't really remember a time when I didn't.“

Harry kisses me. It's slow, sweet. Time stops, but the earth is spinning, we're the axis it's spinning around.

„I've missed you so much, Draco. So fucking much.“

I nod, then pull him against me for another kiss. Not so sweet this time. My mouth is open and I press against him, making him feel just _how_ much I've missed him.

Harry sighs against my mouth and then he lifts me up. I don't think I'll ever get used to how easy it is for him to carry me.

I'm a lot to carry, despite my slim frame. I know I am.

But here Harry is, making it seem so easy.

„Take me to bed,“ I murmur against his lips.

He does.

Back in his sheets, I feel like I'm finally home. I take Harry's clothes off, then mine. No rush. We've got time.

My hands are roaming over his chest, his back. „What do you want, love?“ I ask, kissing his jaw.

„Anything you want.“

„It's your birthday,“ I insists, catching his earlobe between my teeth. „I want to take care of you.“

Harry sucks a bruise into my neck. My hands are carding through his hair.

When he's done, he suddenly rolls us around so that I'm on top.

„Ride me,“ he says into my ear, then pulls me into his lap, right where he wants me. I smile, heart beating fast.

I summon lube, but when I reach behind me to prepare myself, Harry swats my hands away. „No, I want to.“

I can't suppress the shiver going through me at those words. My arms loosely wrap around his neck as I kneel up and arch my back.

I pant against his temple, hips squirming, until he makes me turn around, straddling him backwards, so he has a better angle. My arm reaches up and behind me to tangle into his messy hair.

„I'm ready,“ I tell him, knowing he'll make me come with his fingers if he doesn't get his cock inside of me during the next two minutes.

His hands are nervous, so I grab him and get into position, slowly sinking down, feeling him push into me.

„Fuck, I've missed you,“ he says, open mouth pressed to my neck.

I take the last couple inches with a sigh. Lean back against his chest, so warm and solid. His arms wrap around me, one hand toying with a nipple and I arch, the movement pressing him deeper into me. I moan.

There is not much leverage to be had, but Harry has my hips in a bruising grasp and together, we rock, hips meeting, him grinding inside me, while I tell him _more_ and _please_ and _Harry_.

My hand is still in his hair, arm hurting.

Only when the heat is getting unbearable, I allow him to change position, tossing me to the bed, flipping me over, crawling between my already spread legs, coming around his waist immediately.

„I'll fuck you into the mattress now, yeah?“

I almost laugh and smile up and him widely. „Yes, please.“

He does, thrusts deep and hard the moment he starts. I sigh and moan, pull him close, try kissing him when he's close enough, our mouths meeting messily, then parting.

My thighs are straining, but I keep them in a dead lock, wanting Harry close, even though that means he can't pull out that far.

„You're so hot like this,“ I tell him, his face covered with a thin layer of sweat, his pupils blown. „I could watch you fucking me for hours.“

Harry gives a deep, grinding thrust that has my head fall back, my spine arching. I moan his name.

„Tell me you're mine.“

„I'm yours, Harry.“

„Always.“

„Yes. Always. _Always_ , I – _fuck_.“

All coherent thoughts leave my brain as he keeps pounding into me mercilessly, until I'm crying out, shooting ropes of white, sticky mess over our bellies, some of it splattering over my chest.

„ _Draco_.“

He comes only seconds later and despite the cum drying between us ( _disgusting_ ), I can't bring myself to let him move, even just an inch.

Until he looks into my eyes.

He looks into my eyes, with those green orbs that have been making me weak since I was eleven years old and suddenly, I feel like I have to _run_.

Strong arms come around me. Holding me. Making me stay.

„None of that, Draco.“

I think I love that he can read my thoughts like that. Even though it scares the shit out of me.

„You threw me my first surprise party. You're staying with me now.“

I know, of course, that if I _really_ wanted to, he'd let me go. But I don't think I do.

Not enough to resist his arms, at least. His mouth. His warm body.

Harry puts one hand up to my cheek and strokes my face, thumb smoothing over my bottom lip.

„I know that we're both a mess, but... I just want to try. I want to try with you _so_ badly.“

„Me too,“ I say. „That's why I'm here.“

Completely ignoring reason like we're known to do, I move in with Harry that night.

Talk about repeating mistakes and such.

But then again... Harry and I have so much history. We're not new. I wouldn't know what we'd be waiting for.

The first two weeks are pure bliss. No cameras, no friends. Just us, scooped up in Harry's flat, having sex on every available surface. My top three are definitely the shower (Harry is just so fucking _strong_ , shagging me against wet, slippery tiles as if it was nothing), the kitchen table – especially bent over it, Harry on his knees behind me – and... the bed. Because I'm oldschool like that and just love messing up Harry's sheets.

Our first outing takes place during the third week of our new-old relationship. We're caught holding hands in a Muggle park. I'm not sure if we were trying or not, but I know we're both glad that it's out there now.

I'm getting hatemail again, but not as much as I did the first time around. It's managable.

I also don't lose my job, because Knockturn isn't really known for catering to the kind of people who are enraged about Harry Potter's love life, or hold an open grudge against Death Eaters.

All in all, it's too good to be true.

The thing is... Harry will make me breakfast and kiss me goodbye, promising to be home not later than six, and I'll get scared. I don't know where this urge to run is coming from. I know I don't really want to leave. The thought alone makes me desperate. But still... Harry's kisses, his secret smiles for me, his socked feet when he's making dinner – all of that scares me.

I tell Pansy about it when I pick her up from her club on my way to work. She, tired and with smudged makeup, gives me a look.

„That's love, Draco. I'm sure you know.“

I look at her, open my mouth to tell her that's crazy, and close it again. Close it because I understand.

There was a time I took love for granted. Before my father caught me with my mother's lipstick smeared over my mouth. Before I took the Mark and realized that I was about to commit a crime there is no coming back from. Before Crabbe and Goyle turned on me, and then Crabbe died in the fiendfyre and I was stumbling through a battle, not knowing who to fight for, only knowing I wanted it to be _over_.

Before I saw Harry dead in Hagrid's arms and, for the first time in my life, lost all hope.

I look at Pansy and remember how hard-won our love is. How many days I was frightened what we had wasn't real, either, like all of my other friends hadn't been friends, but merely followers. How often I still worry that she'll decide one day she's had enough of me. That she's seen it all and has grown bored.

I've never admitted any of that to her, ever, but I think she knows.

„Don't psyche yourself out,“ she says, yawning, shivering in the chilly morning air.

* * *

I get the letter after a round of lazy morning sex with Draco that put a beam on my face.

Draco is in the kitchen, making coffee and probably checking his reflection at least three times in the chromed fridge, while I pad toward the door to my flat. A letter is lying on the ground – muggle. A deep frown is creasing my forehead. My heart is pounding hard.

As far as I know, there is only one muggle in England that has my address. And I really don't think I want to hear from him.

Slowly, I crouch down and pick it up.

My suspicions are confirmed. It's from him.

My heart is in my throat now.

I told him when I gave him my address that it was for emergencies, and emergencies _only_. Honestly, I thought about giving it to him for a long while. Because would I even want to be notified in case of an _emergency_?

But then I felt like... I should at least know.

If Dudley Dursley believes there is something I need to know, I assume I might at least take the time to consider if I agree. I can still burn the letter later.

„Are you coming? I'm having a capuccino, but do you want black anyway? Do we have enough eggs to make pancakes? I'm really feeling pancakes today, I -“

Draco turns to me, standing in the doorframe, unopened letter in hand. He puts his cup down.

„Harry?“

I look at him, his grey eyes, blond hair still a bit messy from my hands. I'm not sure I want to tell him, but... I want to tell him.

„I've got a letter from my cousin.“

Draco's eyes widen. „Oh. Your... muggle cousin?“

„I only have one.“

„Right.“

Draco walks over to me. „What does it say?“

„Haven't opened it yet.“

My heart is still pounding too fast.

Draco and I have hardly talked about my childhood, but apparently enough for him to have gathered that I really don't like my relatives.

„You don't have to if you don't want to. I can burn it and scatter the ashes for you.“ Pale fingers are pushing my fringe back, then sliding down my neck, massaging lightly.

I smile. My heartbeat softens just a little.

It's only a letter. I'm in control and I'm an _adult_. The Dursleys are long in the past.

Draco doesn't try to read when I open the letter. I know how much willpower that must cost him and love him a little more for it.

I skim the letter. It's not too long.

By the time I've finished, my heart is slamming against my ribcage again.

„What does it say?“

I look at the ground, jaw working. Then at Draco. „My uncle is in the hospital. Lung cancer. He's dying.“

I'm not sure if wizards get cancer, if Draco even knows what it is, but he doesn't ask.

„Oh, darling. I'm sorry.“

He slips into my arms and embraces me, hands stroking my back.

„I don't... I'm not sure it touches me. I mean...“

My heart is still pounding so hard. I don't know what I'm feeling. If I'm feeling anything at all.

„Do you want to see him?“

I bite my lip hard. Do I?

No. Yes. Maybe.

„I don't think so. Do you think I have to?“

Draco pulls back enough to look at me. „You don't have to do anything.“

„Dudley wrote he wouldn't mind.“ My voice is bitter. „He wouldn't _mind_ if I came to see Vernon.“

Draco scoffs, arms tightening around me. „Such an arsehole. I think I'll hex him for that if I ever meet him.“

„He's not worth it.“ 

I pull Draco closer and allow myself to smile pleasedly because I know he means it.

The Slytherin tilts his chin up to press a kiss against my jaw. „Our coffee's getting cold.“

„Yeah, you're right. Let's have some coffee.“

I intertwine our fingers and try to push Uncle Vernon out of my mind – at least for now.

One look at Ron and I know that I'm not going to be the only one in need for a little heart-to-heart tonight.

His face is grey and his eyes as tired as I've only seen them once before and that was during our times camping out in a magical tent, a horcrux resting on the skin and bones above his heart, eating at him.

I make my way through our favourite pub, nodding at the elderly, smiley waitress that knows us by name (I mean, everyone knows my name, but she'd know our names even if we hadn't killed Voldemort because we're just here so often) and sit down in front of Ron.

„Hey, mate.“

„Are you alright?“ However distressed I am because of Vernon, I don't think I've quite reached Ron's level of devastation.

My best friend rubs his face with both hands. „So Hermione hasn't talked to you yet?“

„No. Not since we saw each other last week. Why?“

I pray that this doesn't have anything to do with Draco. But I'm rather positive it doesn't – while Ron is still not thrilled about us, he's nowhere near being _this_ upset about it.

„Um... well. Looks like – yeah. Looks like it might be over between us.“

Ron nods, presses his lips together. Sucks on his teeth. Tries for a smile.

Breaks into tears.

„Oh... Ron. Fuck, I'm so sorry.“

I have seen Ron cry before, but I can count the occasions on one hand and would still have one or two fingers left.

He's not someone who likes to cry in front of other people. Especially not in public.

It's bad.

I reach over the table and squeeze his shoulder. Pet it a little, feeling terribly insufficient.

„What... Do you want to talk about it?“

Of course I know that things have been rocky between them for a while now. But they're _Ron and Hermione_. I was sure they'd work it out. They always do.

He needs a minute, before the sobs subside and he can talk. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffles loudly.

„I don't really know what happened, honestly. She said... I mean, for once, she's got it in her head now that I want to get her up the duff _right this second_ and will be unable to compromise for her. Doesn't matter how often I tell her that I'm okay with waiting. And then...“

He needs a moment. „She said she's _confused about a lot of things right now_. Whatever the fuck that means.“

His mouth curls.

My stomach drops. To me, it sounds like there might be someone else. But I'm sure as hell not going to be the one putting that thought in Ron's head, especially not when I don't even know if I am right.

Luckily, I don't have to.

„So I guess she has someone else, but -“ He takes a steadying breath. „But she won't really admit to it. I asked her if she cheated on me. She said no and I... think I believe her, but there must be someone.“

I open my mouth, still searching for some consoling words, but before I can come up with anything, Ron slams his fist on the table. „Fuck!“ he shouts.

Several heads turn, staring at us. I pat his hand. „I totally get it, man. You wanna get out of here?“

He shakes his head. „No. I want that burger.“

As if on cue, Marie brings us our food, giving Ron a motherly pat on the back and making herself scarce again.

„I just can't fucking believe it. Five years together and then there's _someone else_?“

He shakes his head.

„So... where are you standing? I mean, are you officially broken up or... like, taking a break? Or still together?“

Ron stuffs a couple fries into his mouth, expression dark. „We're _taking a break_. But everyone knows that's splitting for cowards.“ He looks at me, desperation, accusation and confusion in his eyes. „Hermione's not a coward, man. Why can't she just be upfront? If there's someone, just _tell_ me. We always kept it real.“

I'm honestly not sure if I'd agree with that. Maybe now, but not always.

„I mean, maybe there isn't. Someone else, I mean.“

Ron shakes his head. „No, there is someone. I'm just not sure if she wants to break up with me because there is someone or if there is someone because she wants to break up with me. You feel me?“

I smile sadly and nod, impressed. Ron is a lot smarter than people give him credit for.

„Anyway,“ he says. „Enough of my fucked life. You said you wanted to talk?“

„We can do that another time, really.“

„Nah, I... there's nothing more to say anyways.“

I wrestle with myself for a moment, then tell him about Dudley's letter.

„Don't go,“ Ron says immediately.

Despite not knowing that much more about the Dursleys than Draco does, Ron knows exactly how I feel about them. And hates them with a ferocity that always makes me embarrassed and so fucking thankful for Ron.

„I'm not sure I can just not go,“ I say.

„Yeah, you absolutely can. If you don't want to, just don't.“

„It's... They're my _family_ , Ron.“

„ _I_ am your family. Me and Hermione and all of my family. You don't need your sorry excuses for relatives.“

„I don't think it's that easy.“

„It is that easy. Fuck them, Harry. I know you hate them, _especially_ that motherfucker Vernon. There is no rule saying you need to grant him last words when there's nothing he could possibly say.“

Ron is right. It's not like I _have_ to go.

But on the other hand... I just feel like not going would be too easy. Like going is a given.

In the end, they _did_ raise me. They did feed me (most of the time) they gave me clothes and a roof over my head. They might never have loved me, but they took me in and raised me, even though I wasn't their kid.

And I know that I shouldn't compliment them on doing the absolute basics, and not even doing them _right_ , but I can't shake the thought that, maybe, there are things I should be grateful for.

When I tell Draco about this line of thinking later that day, snuggled up on the sofa, his back against my chest, he turns around and looks at me out of sober eyes.

„You don't owe them anything, Harry. And you don't have to be grateful. However...“ He frowns lightly and looks down. „I understand that feeling of... I understand that you can't just hate the people that raised you. Even if they did it badly.“

It's only now that I realize that Draco might be able to understand me better than I thought he might.

„You're talking about your father,“ I say.

Draco nods. „I know that the situation is different and I don't want to talk over you or say I know what you're feeling.“

„But?“ I urge.

„But... I do know that you can hate and love someone at the same time. I think that nothing is as complicated as loving your family.“

Draco hugs his knees to his chest and somehow, he looks both older and younger at the same time. „It's granted, that love. I think it's as close to unconditional as it gets.“

I want to disagree. I'm such a hopeless romantic, I always like to believe that my love for Draco, even for Ron and Hermione, is unconditional, too.

But I know that's not true. There are things I wouldn't be able to forgive. Even Draco. Things that would... maybe not _erase_ my love for him, but definitely change it for the worse.

„I think some part of you will always love your parents. At least that's how I feel.“

Draco hugs his knees closer to his body, resting his chin atop them. „My father really hurt me. He made me feel like I'm a failure, an abomination, even. He made so many wrong choices and he dragged me down with him. I hate him, I really do. And I love him still.“

I reach out and stroke the back of Draco's hand. He smiles vaguely.

„I don't love the Dursleys,“ I say after a moment of quiet. „I don't think I ever really have. But they _are_ the people I grew up with. They were horrible in many ways, but... they could've refused to take me. They didn't.“

„Why do you think that is?“ Draco asks.

I've asked myself that same question many times before.

„I think it was a sense of duty. My mother was Petunia's sister. I think she felt obligated to take me. Even though she hadn't been close to my mom for years.“

„And now you feel obligated to... pay your Uncle your last respects?“

I sighs. „Not really. I don't respect him. But... I don't know. He's dying. I just feel like I _have_ to go see him one last time.“

„If that's what you want, I'll be right with you. Or here waiting for you, whatever you need.“

Draco's eyes are earnest, no hint of his usual sarcasm or taunting.

I kiss him so he won't see my eyes water.

I can't remember the last time I was in a muggle hospital. It must have been on one of the occasions when I was so badly hurt as a child that even the Dursleys felt the need for me to see a doctor.

The smell of disinfectants and sickness are overwhelming.

I turn to Draco and squeeze his hand. „Would you mind waiting here?“

We're still in the entrance hall. If I can avoid it, I'd rather Draco doesn't meet any of the Dursleys. It would be too much for today to handle.

„Not at all.“

He releases me with a kiss on my cheek and I drag my feet to the staircases, heart pounding.

I'm almost turning on my heels again.

Suddenly, I have no idea anymore why I'm even here. I don't think Uncle Vernon _wants_ me to visit him. What the hell am I going to say?

I freeze, one hand on the railing.

But I've never been one to turn around. I'm not sure if I even know how that works.

So I continue my ascend, heart in my throat, feeling like a fish in a barrel.

It's a little shock to see Petunia looking like she's aged ten years. It has been almost six years since I last saw her, so I shouldn't be so surprised. Her husband is dying.

Not for the first time, I wonder if Petunia really loves Vernon. Or even likes him.

I don't know.

She's standing in the hallway, staring at me like I'm a ghost. I feel like one.

Her lips are tight, eyes darting.

„I didn't know you'd come,“ she says.

I swallow thickly. Fight the feeling of being thrown into the past, back into my six, twelve, fifteen year old body.

„I didn't either.“

Petunia wraps her arms around herself. „He is in there. Don't agitate him.“

_Don't make him mad, you stupid boy_ .

My chest tightens. I soldier through it, but I can't deny that I feel like throwing up.

Slowly, I approach the door to the room. Push it open.

Vernon is lying in a huge, white bed. It's shocking to see how much weight he's lost – like a balloon someone poked with a needle.

Tubes are sprouting from his nose, surely helping him breathe. His small pig eyes find me.

„Hello, Uncle Vernon,“ I say, a little shaky on my feet. I inch closer.

„What are you doing here?“ Vernon asks.

His voice lacks its old volume, but the tone is the same.

„Coming to see you, I guess. Say goodbye.“

Vernon huffs. It rattles when he breathes.

„You seemed to be just fine without us, boy. Unthankful little brat.“

My heart is thundering in my chest. I'm not sure if I'm angry or frightened. If I'm pitying him or hating myself for coming.

„I was. I am. I just thought...“

Yeah, what did I think?

Part of me knows, whispers it to me. But I shut that part down. It's too embarrassing.

„You thought wrong. Don't you harrass my family while I'm on my dying bed.“

I look at him, blood rushing in my ears.

„I'm not.“

„Then leave.“

I turn to go. Then I turn back. „Do you know? Do you know what an awful person you are?“

Vernon huffs, then starts coughing.

„You don't talk to me like that, boy!“

_As if you could do shit about it now._

„I hope you have many regrets. I hope you die regretting the way you lived.“

With that, I go, because I know that he doesn't. There is nothing I can say to make him see.

So it's better not to say anything at all.

* * *

Harry doesn't say anything on his way home but _I'm fine_. He is so clearly not fine that it makes me jumpy.

I restrain myself until we've made it home. But as soon as the door closes behind us, I'm on Harry, wanting to wrap him up into my arms.

He won't let me. He dodges me, shaking his head. I think his hands are trembling.

„I need... I'll go for a run.“

Harry doesn't run. He's never been on a run before since I know him.

But what can I say?

„Alright. I'll be here.“

I wish I could kiss him, touch him. But he doesn't want me to, so all I can do is watch him walk out the door.

I wait for an hour. An hour that feels like the better part of eternity. Then I can't take it anymore.

No way Harry is able to run for longer than that.

My heart is racing as I dash out of the flat, probably looking like an absolute maniac.

I'm not sure if it's instinct, magic or dumb luck that carries me to a bench in a small street. A familiar bench.

„Harry!“ I'm shouting it, almost screaming it, because the sight of the back of his shaggy head, his slumped shoulders, is one I've never wanted to see again.

I stumble forward, wand already drawn to stop the blood gushing out of him, but Harry's head turns at my scream.

He's a little pale, but not white from blood loss.

„Oh, fuck. Draco...“

I'm skirting the bench, knocking my shins against the metal, half falling into Harry's lap.

„How dare you,“ I yell, full volume. „How fucking dare you?“

I grab his hands, inspect them. His body, looking for injuries.

„Draco, I'm fine. Look at me.“

I only do when he has put a hand on each side of my face. Green eyes are huge and pained and full of guilt for freaking me out.

„Sorry I scared you.“

I take a deep breath and then finally pull him close. I hold him too tight and he's gripping to me so hard, I think I can't breathe. I don't want to. All I need is him.

„Were you planning on hurting yourself?“ I ask, not letting go.

Harry shakes his head, his cheek against mine. „I don't think so.“

I jerk away, staring at him. „You don't _think_ so?“

„I wouldn't have.“ But he doesn't quite look at me and a panic like I have never felt it before settles into my bones.

„Harry, look at me.“

He does, reluctantly.

„Tell me why you did it. Four years ago. Why did you want to die?“

Harry takes a shaky breath. „I...“ He cuts himself off. „There is no great story I can tell you. I just...“

His lip is quivering and he bites down on it _hard_. It bleeds. „I killed Voldemort. I died and I came back and I just... Everyone has this image of me now. Even Ron and Hermione, a little bit. And I'm just _not_ that. I didn't even really kill Voldemort! It was Dumbledore, all along. He told me what to do and I just did it and now...“

I carress his face. „And now?“ I prompt gently when he doesn't continue.

„Now I feel like I'm just drifting. I always try so hard to be good and make things right, but it's like I can't anymore. I'm not good for anything. I'm just kind of... there.“

He rubs his dry, red eyes. „I mean, I'm better now. Lydia helped me and it's not... I do want to live. Sometimes I just feel like I can't. Like I'm... still this little boy that was only ever a liability.“

For the first time, I understand the darkness inside Harry.

He grew up feeling worthless, unloved. And then Dumbledore swooped in and gave his life a purpose, made him _matter_. By turning him into a weapon.

But now Harry isn't a weapon anymore. He's just a person.

And he doesn't know who he is without someone using him for their own gain.

I finally understand and my heart breaks and a small part of me wants to jump to my feet and leave because I'm not _enough_. Not good enough at giving love.

But who am I kidding? As if I could ever really leave Harry.

I swing a leg over Harry's thighs, sitting back so we're face to face, my hands on his face, my gaze unwavering.

„Harry James Potter,“ I say, stare burning. „You are my sun, alright? Never ever tell yourself you'd be a _liability_. Fuck the Dursleys, fuck Dumbledore. I love you, Weasley and Hermione love you and you don't need to slay demons all the time to _matter_. You matter, Harry. To me. And I hope one day, it'll be enough for you to matter to yourself.“

The tears on Harry's face make me want to scoop him up and keep him in my arms forever. My heart pounds. I'm so fucking scared.

Harry kisses me, a wet, tearful kiss.

„Promise me you're never going to kill yourself,“ I say quietly, stroking the tears off his face.

„I promise.“

It's late at night, Harry's arm around my waist, his lips against my neck, when I ask: „Do you want to tell me about today? With your uncle?“  
Harry is quiet for a long while, his nose brushing over my neck.

„I think I hoped for an apology.“

I wait with my breath hold.

„But I didn't get one.“

I intertwine our fingers and rest them over my heart.

_My heart beats for you_ . Cheesy crap, stupid.

And absolutely true.


	10. Chapter 9

The first dinner I'm having with Harry and Weasley is strained and awkward. Weasley keeps glaring at me out of habit, then catching himself and seeming rather lost instead.

It's such a shame that him and Hermione have split. I'm sure it would have been much easier with her here.

We make it through without hexes being thrown. Not even low blows are exchanged. We all agree that a few sharp remarks are enough.

When Weasley finally leaves, Harry and I are both drained and nap on the couch together. I wake him up with a blow job and we end up shagging right there, my knees pushed basically to my ears and Harry almost fucking me straight through the armrest.

The morning after that brilliant shag, the first Saturday of September, Harry goes to see Ron ( _he's not doing so great_ , he'd said and I just hope that Weasley isn't as dumb as I used to believe he is and notices that Harry isn't doing  _so great_ either), so I go visit Pansy.

I don't tell her in advance, because I usually don't. She's probably still sleeping, exhausting from last night's work, but I plan to wake her up.

But Pansy isn't sleeping when I enter the flat.

„Missed me?“ I say as I step through the door – and stop dead in my tracks. My jaw drops. My eardrums are pierced by two high shrieks.

Pansy's face appears, lifting up from where it was buried between another girl's legs.

„Turn around, you fucking prick!“

But I don't. I stare at the two women open-mouthed.

„Draco!“ A pillow is connecting with my head and I close my eyes, putting a hand over my eyes.

„What the _fuck_ , Pansy?“

There is shuffling around, clothes being pulled up and down.

I open my eyes again, gaze sliding from Pansy to Hermione, bright red.

„Not to say I can blame you, Hermione, but... _what_?“

Hermione is stammering something. I turn back to Pansy. „I can't believe you didn't tell me!“

„I'm sorry! But Hermione...“ Pansy glances at her.

Right, of course. The Gryffindor wanted to keep it under wraps.

Hermione steps forward. „Please don't tell Harry,“ she says, clearly desperate. „He'll tell Ron and... it's too soon. Please, Draco.“

I sigh. „When are you planning on telling them?“

Hermione's face says it all. Pansy looks to the side, jaw working.

„I see.“ My eyebrow arches, tone cool.

Hermione shifts her weight. „Just don't tell him, please. It's nothing. They'd just freak out for no reason.“

I try catching Pansy's gaze, but she won't meet it.

„I'll think about it,“ I say clippedly. „Now, if you don't mind...?“

I can tell Hermione is a little scared of me now. Good.

She gathers her things and leaves with surprising speed, face burning.

I turn to Pansy, who is trying to smooth down her messy hair.

„Explain, please.“

Pansy shrugs and sits down on the bed, rightening the crumpled sheets. „There's not really much to explain. We're shagging.“

„Yes, I kind of gathered that much.“

I sit down next to her, trying not to think about what was just going on under these sheets.

„How did it happen?“

„Honestly... I don't even know. She came over and we were just talking, you know, and then – well.“

„Who made the first move?“

„Her, actually. But, to be fair, I've made my interest obvious.“

Pansy shrugs and tilts her head arrogantly, feining nonchalance. „She's wasted on Weasley anyway.“

Sympathy is welling up in my belly, cramping my chest.

„Pans...“

„Oh, no. It's not like that. We're just fucking.“

„Sure you are.“

The intensity of Pansy's stare surprises me. „Don't be ridiculous. She's working for the Ministry. I'm a stripper.“

I wish I could deny it, but she's got a point.

„Alright, yes, but...“

„Leave it.“

She gets up. „I need some coffee. You want?“

„Sure. Do we have cream?“

I know Pansy well enough to recognize when the time isn't right. She is not going to have a heart-to-heart with me right now.

I'm browsing  _Gilbert's Glorious Sweets_ , one of the newer shops in Diagon, for something nice (because I really fucking deserve it, and so does Harry), happy to have escaped the first chills of the incoming fall. 

_Honeydukes_ will always have a special place in my heart, but I have to admit that this shop is quite nice as well. I'm standing over a jar of truffles filled with bubbling strawberry cream, contemplating if I'm more in the mood for chocolate or something a bit more fruity, when I feel someone in my back.

I turn. A middle-aged wizard steps back. And points at me. „He's stealing!“

I blink at him. „Excuse me? I'm not -“

Before I can finish my sentence, the owner of the shop has made an appearance, bushy brows drawn, mouth hard.

The wizard is still pointing at me. Apparently, his parents failed to teach him basic manners.

„Malfoy?“ the owner spits and my mouth curls.

„I'm not stealing anything. I was fully intending to pay for everything in there.“ I lift the small basket I took from the entrance.

„Check his pockets,“ the wizard with the receding hairline and full beard says.

The owner of the shop (I'm guessing his name is probably Gilbert) does, just like that, grabbing me, shoving his hands into the pockets of my coat.

He pulls out a small box of truffles and two sugar quills. „He put those in there,“ I say.

It's so obvious.

„I haven't,“ receding hairline says.

Gilbert or whatever his name is scowls at me. „I'm calling the Aurors.“

My mouth opens. „By all due respect, that is  _ridiculous_ . I didn't -“

But I'm silenced with a quick charm. My eyes are burning.

Should've checked the shop owner's family history before entering. As things are, I'd bet quite a lot of money I don't have that my father has done them dirty, probably more than once.

Only ten minutes later, two people in billowing Auror robes enter the shop.

I'm not sure if I should be relieved or scared shitless as to see that one of them is Weasley. His partner is a black witch with long curls and an admirable eyeliner. Her badge reads  _Jones_ .

„What's your emergency?“ Weasley asks, blue eyes darting from me to the shop owner.

„Malfoy here was trying to steal from me.“

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

I think I could probably break the muting spell, but that might not be the smart thing to do. I really hope Weasley or his partner will do it before I have to.

„Oh, yeah? What was he trying to steal?“

The owner holds up the truffles and sugar quills I've never touched.

Weasley and his partner share a look.

„You're calling the Aurors because of a box of _truffles_?“ Jones asks, with just the right amount of disbelief.

„Malfoy belongs in Azkaban,“ the owner says through grit teeth. „And I want him banned off my property.“

Weasley lifts his brows. „You can ban him anytime you want. You know that's up to you. None of my business.“

He shares another look with Jones, both of their lips curling slightly. „But we're not going to put him into Azkaban because of a box of truffles, Mr. Gilbert, I'm afraid,“ Jones says.

„He's a bloody thief!“ Gilbert says loudly. „Just like his father.“

For the first time since he arrived, Weasey looks directly into my eyes.

„Is that true, Malfoy? Were you trying to steal?“

I try to say something, the words getting stuck in my throat. I shake my head forcefully.

Weasley frowns. „Finite.“

I take a breath as if the spell would have locked my air pipes. „No, I wasn't trying to steal. That gentleman here put those into my pockets.“

My respectful tone doesn't quite translate, but I think I can be forgiven. Afterall, I'm seething.

„Alright, then,“ Weasley says. „Sounds like a misunderstanding to me.“

„It wasn't!“ Gilbert says, enraged.

Jones lifts her brows. „No? What was it then? You trying to frame Mr. Malfoy?“

As much as I hate being called that, I'm somehow deeply moved by the fact that she does. Pretending I'd be the same as the rest of them here. Someone to be called Mister.

„He's just saying that the truffles and quills were put into his pocket. Clearly, he's lying,“ the receding hairline chimes in.

Jones gives him a  _don't-bullshit-me_ look. „Well, you're just saying he was stealing. Word against word.“

Weasley gives me another look. Hard to read, but not hostile. „What were you thinking we should do, Mr. Gilbert? Have a trial?  _The Trial of the Truffles_ . Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?“

The impossible happens.

I snort. 

Weasley just made me laugh.

The corners of Weasley's mouth twitch. Jones has to cover up a laugh with a cough.

„You're protecting him because he's wrapped our Saviour around his finger,“ Gilbert spits. „Aren't you Potter's friend? Aren't you _concerned_ for him?“

Weasley sobers instantly. He takes a tiny step forward. „I'm concerned for  _you_ , Gilbert. You're aware that wasting the time of the Aurorforce is a criminal offence, right?“

„But Malfoy -“

Jones steps shoulder to shoulder with Weasley. „Mr. Gilbert, we are not going to arrest Mr. Malfoy for  _allegedly_ stealing a box of truffles. If we did, we'd have to arrest douzens of kids and homeless people ever single day. Have a good day, sir.“

Gilbert swallows thickly and gives me a look that makes it clear he'd murder me if he could get away with it.

She walks ahead. Weasley turns to me. „You coming, Draco?“

His words hang in the air, heavy. The impact of them shakes the walls.

It is one thing to be photographed snogging Harry Potter, everyone jumping to the conclusion I  _must_ have somehow tricked him into sleeping with me.

It's another thing to be called by my first name by a highly regarded Auror and war hero. Weasley just made a statement.

I just nod. „Yes.“

Without another look at Gilbert or receding hairline, I leave the shop with the two Aurors.

Outside in the chilly sunlight, I look at Weasley sideways. „Have I coerced you too, now?“

Weasley grumbles. „Don't make me regret that, Ferret.“

Jones gives me an almost friendly look.

Weasley turns briskly. „We have to get back to the office.“

They're half down the street to the apparition point when I get over myself and call after them.

„Thank you.“

They both stop for a moment. Throw a look over their shoulder.

Jones gives me a tiny smile and an even tinier wave.

Weasley holds my gaze. Then nods at me.

„Oh my God, are you okay?“ Harry is on me the second I walk through the door of our flat (sweets-less, because arseholes).

„Ron told me about the incident. No one hurt you, right?“

I shake my head and hang up my coat, toeing off my shoes. „No, I'm fine. Just showed my face to the wrong people, is all.“

I honestly wasn't trying to sound sarcastic, but I do.

Harry wants to pull me close, but after a quick kiss, I evade his arms and head to the kitchen. Harry follows me.

„Ron wants to talk to Hermione again,“ he says, watching me make coffee.

„Does he?“

Unease is pooling in my stomach. I haven't yet told him what I've found out about Pansy and Hermione only a couple days ago. And, to be honest, I didn't expect it to be so hard to keep that secret from him. It doesn't even directly concern Harry.

That's what I'm telling myself, at least. I'm rather sure Harry would disagree.

„Yeah. I think he's pulled himself together a bit and is ready to fight for her. He says it's ridiculous and honestly, I think he's right.“

Harry comes up next to me, leans against the counter and takes a sip of his coffee, flinching as he burns his tongue.

„I mean, Ron and Hermione have been a couple for more than five years. They belong together.“

I make a noise that could literally mean anything, but it makes Harry frown anyway.

„You don't agree?“

I shrug. „Not necessarily. Feelings can change, can't they?“

Harry shifts his weight, his frown deepening. „Yeah, but no. Feelings in general can change, but if you love someone, you love them. Right?“

I arch a brow. „So you're saying you still love Ginny?“

Harry meets my gaze openly. „I still care for her, yeah. I always will, I think. But I've never loved her the way I love you.“

I bite my lip and quickly look away.

We've said the three words a couple times before now. It's like... understood between us.

But still, sometimes I get uneasy. I don't know why.

„Relationships don't always last, Harry.“

The Gryffindor puts his cup down. „Yeah, no shit.“

I look at him. „Then why are you so convinced that Hermione belongs to Weasley?“

„Because it's just always been that way. They love each other.“

„Alright, they probably do. But maybe her love has changed. Maybe she doesn't love him romantically anymore.“

Harry studies my face. „Why are you saying that? Did she talk to you?“

I avoid his gaze.

„Draco.“ Harry's voice is unrelenting. „Why did you just say that?“

I wrestle with myself.   


I said to Hermione I wouldn't tell Harry, but if it comes down to it... Harry is my boyfriend. Hermione and I aren't even really friends.

I look up, defeated.

„Hermione is sleeping with someone else.“

Harry's jaw drops. „What? How do you know?“

„I just do.“

„Draco, how the fuck can you know that? She didn't just _tell_ you, did she?“

I should've have known I wouldn't get away with half the truth. 

„She's sleeping with Pansy.“

Harry takes a tiny step back. His face would be hilarious if I wasn't so antsy right now.

„Yeah, sure she is.“ He laughs a little.

My expression doesn't move.

„Are you for real? Hermione is sleeping with Pansy? Seriously?“

I just nod.

Harry gapes at me. Looks to the side.

„I don't understand. Hermione isn't even gay.“

„I guess she's bi. Does it matter?“

„No, I mean... What? With _Pansy_?“

I cross my arms. „Pansy is very attractive.“

„So let me get this straight. Hermione left Ron for _Pansy_?“

„No.“

I shake my head, brushing my fringe back. „Hermione is just hooking up with her.“

„But, like, more than just once.“

„Yes.“

„So it's not _just_ sex.“  


I hesitate. I could say now that it's not for Pansy, but it might be for Hermione.

But I'm not going to expose my best friend like that, so I just say: „I think it might be.“

Harry frowns as if that was a foreign concept to him. „Okay, how often are we talking? Because... I think if you're sleeping with someone more than, say, three times or so, it's not just sex. Plus, Hermione and Pansy get along well. I've seen that.“

I can't help it – I laugh. „What world are you living in, honey? People sometimes fuck for months and it's nothing serious. You know that things like fuckbuddies exist, right? Friends with benefits?“

Harry's eyes widen and if I wasn't so incredulous, I could read his face and change my tone. But I don't, self-centered as always.

„And, unlike the stories you might have read and seen may have taught you, _no_ , those people _don't_ always fall in love. Sometimes sex is just sex, Harry. Even if you like the person.“

Harry takes a step back. „So you're saying relationships can end at any point? There is no guarantee that anything is ever... serious?“

I blink, tilting my head. „I mean, there is never a guarantee for anything, is there?“

Harry looks away. „Right.“ He pushes himself off the counter and I just realize I shouldn't have run my mouth like that.

„Well, I don't think that years of being with someone mean nothing and that sex is just sex and never anything more.“

He walks out of the room and I could kick myself in the arse.

„Harry!“ I follow him. „I didn't mean to say I wouldn't ever be serious about someone.“

Harry turns to me, crossing his arms. „But are you? I know that you're been mostly slutting it up before me. Are relationships even your thing?“

I flinch back, my face instantly hardening. „I've been slutting it up?“

It's not like I'm generally offended by being called a slut. But it depends on who says it in what context.

It so fucking depends.

Harry bites his lip. „I didn't mean, like... But, yeah! You've been having sex with, like, a different bloke every weekend.“

I cross my arms, voice, eyes and mouth steel. „So what are you saying, Potter?“

„Nothing! Just that me being concerned you might not be serious, especially after dropping those shit statements, is valid!“

I raise a brow at him that has him sinking through the floor.

„Interesting how you rather judge me by my past sexual encounters than believe me when I tell you I love you.“

„You didn't tell me you love me today. When I said it to you.“

I bark out a laugh. „Salazar, Harry. Get over yourself.“

The Gryffindor has closed off so quickly that I have no chance of saying anything else.

„Fine, then. I'm off.“

And with that, he leaves me in his flat, shaken and angry and hurting.

I'm not sure what even just happened.

Harry isn't coming back that night.

I head to work the next morning like a zombie, not having slept a wink. It's scary, how I'm unable to sleep without Harry's arms anymore.

My boss even throws me some concerned glances and I mess up the customer's oders more than once, resulting in less tips and more bad-mouthing me behind my back.

„Get some rest, lad,“ my boss tells me when I get off, feeling tired enough to fall asleep on my feet, but at the same time absolutely positive that I won't be finding any sleep when I'll try.

I step into the flat, pulling off my shoes, feeling almost like an old man. Something terribly heavy is weighing me down.

„Hey, Draco.“

I startle, eyes snapping up. Harry is leaning against the wall with one shoulder, looking at me out of his glorious eyes, the circles rimming them almost as dark as mine.

I don't think about it. I just start toward him, throwing my arms around his neck, hanging on to him.

Harry, always reliable, catches me and gathers me close. We stand like that for a long moment.

When I finally –  _reluctantly –_ pull back and look into his eyes, I ask: „Where have you been?“

„At Ron's.“

I just nod.

„Look, Draco, I... I'm sorry for offending you. You know I don't think of you like that. At all.“

„Like what?“

„Like a slut or whatever. It doesn't matter what you used to do with whom before me. I'm just insecure. And when you say you think love can change and relationships end...“

I cradle his face in my hands. „It does and they do. But I didn't mean that any of that will happen to us. I don't want it to. I just – I'm insecure, too.“

My heart is pounding too fast. „You make me so scared. All the time.“

„Scared? Of what?“

It's so very simple, but I have never really admitted it before now. „Scared of losing you. What you make me feel is sometimes overwhelming. I don't always like it, to be honest. I hate that I know you could... destroy me.“

Harry's arms fly around me, pulling me in close, forehead resting on mine. „I would never, Draco.“

„You can't promise that.“

„Yes, I can.“

I have to smile. Stupid Gryffindor.

His eyes, my world, are so determined. „I love you, Draco. Desperately. Hopelessly and forever.“

My heart swells, too big for my chest. I would run, but Harry's arms keep me close.

„I love you, too,“ is all I can say.

I kiss him, open-mouthed, urgent. Like someone drowning, gasping for air.

Like someone in love.

We're stumbling into the bedroom together, shedding clothes on our way. Harry is carressing every inch of me he can reach, my heart pounding out of my chest.

I've never felt that stripped before.

Vulnerable.

Harry's mouth is hot on mine, tongue tangling with my own, mapping out every crevice of my mouth. His hands push my legs apart.

As if he had to. I can never close off in front of him. Even though I try.

When he pushes inside me, a tear falls from my lashes.

„Draco?“

„I'm fine.“

I pull him closer, into me. „Fuck me, please.“

But Harry, always so stubborn, takes his time, even though he's throbbing inside me. He is kissing my face.

„I won't leave, Draco.“ He licks at my jaw, over my throat, still not really moving. I cant my hips and he starts rocking. Too slow. Way too slow.

„Fuck me or let me on top.“

He pins my wrists down. Kisses me on the mouth. His eyes are burning. „My feelings won't change. I love you, baby. You belong to me now. And I'm yours.“

He gives a slow roll of his hips that has my lips parting. I'm trembling. 

„I don't have any more to offer.“ The words are drawn from my mouth by his goddamn eyes. His hips. His hands. His mouth.

I meet his gaze. „I'm not good. I'm not – This is  _it_ , Harry. I'm really a prat and I know you think I'm not, but I  _am_ . I'm selfish and mean and I don't know what to do when people cry, I'm...“

I cut myself off, swallowing against the tears.

„You're my boyfriend, is what you are. You're sweet and snarky and compassionate and sensitive and so loving. No one has ever got me quite like you, Draco. So stop worrying.“

„But -“

„You don't need any more to offer me. I love you, just like this.“

„You love fucking me.“

„I love everything about you.“

He makes to pull out. I lock my legs around him. „What? What are you doing?“

„If you think this is about sex for me, I'll prove you wrong.“

„No! No, don't.“

Harry laughs at my agitation and presses close again. A chaste kiss falls on my lips.

„Draco.“

„Harry.“

Finally, he starts thrusting. When he goes faster, I moan, arching my back, legs drawing up, trying to pull him deeper into me.

During all of it, even when he's whipping his hips so forcefully, I know I'll be  _sore_ tomorrow, he holds my hand, our fingers locked over my head.

When he gets close, I feel stretched beyond my body. I feel... too thin, too exposed.

„And I _am_ a slut,“ I pant as if our little conversation had never been disrupted by him fucking me into the mattress. 

„ _My_ slut though.“

I clench around him and he comes with a cry, spilling inside me. I hold my breath, my arms holding him.

Slowly, he eases out of me, licking my neck. One hand strokes over my rock-hard erection, dripping precum, then down lower, between my legs. I spread them, hardly feeling the ache in my tendons.

He's mouthing at my jaw, slowly fucking his fingers in and out of me, making me moan and cry and beg.

„So fucking pretty, look at you.“ My brows crease, a tight moan escaping my mouth.

„I should do this more often. Watch how you get fucked. How you're begging for my _fingers_.“

He sucks on my neck and I'm  _sobbing_ , begging him to make me come.

I try to reach for my dick, but Harry won't let me.

„I want you to come from just this. I know you can, darling.“

If I could just turn around, I'd rut the fucking mattress, but he has me on my back, completely at his mercy.

„Please, Harry.“ My hands are gripping the sheets, my whole body so hot, burning up. Sweat is running down my back, my neck.

Harry licks it off.

„Fuck, you're sexy.“

I push down on his fingers. When Harry finds the spot and  _grinds_ there, I cry out, everything tight and hot and  _too much_ .

„Darling,“ Harry says and I come, arching off the bed, almost kneeing Harry in the face, shooting ropes of white over both of our bodies.

Afterward, I bury my face in Harry's chest. He's pulling me against him, holding on tight, entangling our legs.

„Fuck, Potter.“

He laughs quietly. „I think it was more like  _fuck Draco_ , but yeah.“

He kisses the top of my head, his thumbs moving and carressing me. „How did I end up with someone so hot?“ he muses.

„No idea,“ I say and he laughs again, bending his head so he can lightly bite at my cheek.

„Arsehole.“

I smile into his chest.

I'm snuggled against Harry's chest, his legs bracketing me on both sides, reading to him.

It took me a while to pick up on it, but Harry  _loves_ it when I do that. He's always super quiet, face buried in my hair, my neck, just listening. 

The pages of the book are smooth under my fingers and it's hard not to smile all the time, warping the emotions of the story (you shouldn't read a death scene with a smile on your face – ruins the mood).

„Hold on,“ Harry says, interrupting me for what must be the first time ever. „He's _gay_?“

„Aren't you an observant one.“

Harry huffs. „I've never read a book with a gay lead.“

„I reckon you haven't read that many books at all, have you? Because I -“ A patronus bursts through the closed window, the silvery falkon speaking with a voice I don't recognize.

„Mr. Draco Malfoy, St. Mungo's Hospital is obliged to inform you that Ms. Pansy Parkinson has been brought in at a critical condition. If you so wish, you can see her now.“

The world stops spinning. The book is slipping through my fingers. I get up, not feeling Harry's hands.

„Draco? Draco, let me come with you.“

My heart is hammering in my chest, blood pounding in my ears.

When I was sixteen, right after I've failed to kill Dumbledore, I've been summoned to the Dark Lord.

I don't think he was actually furious with me, but his cold indifference, his faint amusement that I, like he predicted, just outed myself as a spineless coward, were just as bad.

Before he tortured me with the Cruciatus, he threatened to hand me over to Nagini. I was kneeling right in front of the enormous snake, able to see her glistening fangs, Voldemort's voice in my head. I looked Death right in the eye. In my case, she was yellow orbs with slits for pupils.

I will never forget the fear I've felt in that moment. It was the only time in my life that I really, truly thought I was about to die.

It was a blinding, cold panic rushing through my veins, my heart bursting out of my chest, my fingers tingling, my pupils dilated. Everything narrowed down to the snake in front of me and that sickening, gut-wrenching truth: I'd die that night. And I didn't want to. I didn't want to die, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Right now, whirling through the floo pipes to St. Mungo's, I almost feel like I did that night. Horror tightening my chest until breathing is basically impossible.

I know, in some small part of my brain, that Harry is following me as I storm to the reception, but he's not really there. I'm alone with my panic.

„I'm here for Pansy Parkinson,“ I tell the receptionist, who is looking at me almost bored.

She flicks her wand and a small piece of parchment flies into her hand.

My lungs are glued with the smell of disinfectants and healing spells as I wait for her to tell me where to go.

„Fourth Floor, second door to your right,“ the receptionist says and I run without thanking her.

Harry is on my heels as I sprint up the stairs. In the hallway, I'm stopped by a caretaker. „No running!“ he says, clearly as annoyed with me as he is tired.

I force myself to slow my stride into something like a not-quite jog and finally find myself in front of the right door.

My heart is pounding out of my chest. Just as I lift my hand to open it, I'm stopped by a healer approaching me.

The witch looks about thirty, meaning she could be everything from thirty to fifty. Her hair is cropped and her skin as dark as Pansy's hair.

„Mr. Malfoy?“

„Yes. I'm here to see Pansy. What happened? Is she okay?“

Harry is right behind me. I can feel his body heat, but all my attention is on the healer.

„Since you are Miss Parkinson's next of kin, I am required to inform you about her condition.“

It takes me a second of her staring meaningfully at Harry before I catch on.

„You can talk in front of him. I'll tell him everything anway.“

If I wasn't so preoccupied, I'd pay her some respect for not being the slightest bit impressed that it's the famous Harry Potter standing next to me.

„Miss Parkinson was hit by a modified body bind curse. She is stable, but so far, we weren't able to lift the curse.“

„So she's paralyzed?“

„Yes.“

Relief is washing over me. People use body binds all the time. It's nothing to worry about.

The witch ( _Healer Wesley_ , her badge says), seems to notice my worries dissolving, because she says: „We're not dealing with a normal body bind, Mr. Malfoy. It is crucial that we lift it as soon as possible, otherwise the neuronal information processing will most likely be damaged.“

„And that means?“ Harry asks, one hand on my shoulder.

„That she'd be permanently paralyzed.“

My world is tilting.

„But you won't let that happen, right?“ Harry's voice is firm and strong, but I'm drifting anyway.

„We're doing our best, Mr. Potter. You can be assured of that.“

„Can I see her?“ I ask numbly.

Healer Wesley nods. „Talk to her. We're positive she can hear and see everything going on around her, just not respond to it.“

I slip into the room. There are several beds in the magically brightened room, but I only see the first one.

Pansy is lying on her back, but it's obvious that she isn't just relaxing. One of her arms is lifted, hand in front of her face, as if to shield herself.

She's frozen, like a corpse in the ice.

„Pansy,“ I gust out, stumbling next to her bed.

Her eyes don't move. There is no sign of recognition, but I know she must hear me.

„Hey,“ I say, lightly stroking over her hair.

She's warm. Just as warm as always. Carefully, I sit down on the edge of the bed. „I'm here now,“ I whisper. „It's going to be alright.“

When Pansy and I were younger, we played that game that probably every teenager plays at one point or another, out of adolescent typical boredom: Shag, marry, kill.

Fifteen, arrogant and desperate for some action, Pansy and I had sat on her bed, going at it for the better part of an hour.

„Shag, marry, kill,“ I said. „The Golden Trio.“

Pansy laughed and shifted on the bed. „Kill Weasley, definitely. Marry Potter, because then I'd be rich and famous and you'd hang at my house all the time. Shag Granger. She's hot, in that nerdy way.“

I had turned on my stomach, arms crossed, cocking my head at her. „Why would I hang at your house if Potter was your husband?“

Pansy gave me her best  _don't-play-dumb_ look. „Because that would give you the perfect opportunity to either fuck or kill him.“

I rolled my eyes, feeling a blush rising in my pale cheeks. „I want neither.“

„Hm, sure.“

We were quiet for a moment. „Do you think we'll see each other? When we're older, I mean.“ I didn't look at her when I asked.

„Of course we will. I'm planning for you to babysit my kids.“

I smiled at the sheets. Pansy crossed her legs and reached out to pet my hair. „You're not getting out of this, Draco. We've already tried making out, you've seen me naked, I've walked in on you wanking... We're in it for life, darling.“

I lifted my gaze, looking at her face, the face of my best friend. I held my hand out, pinky outstretched.

„In it for life.“

I'm not stupid. I know that pinky promises aren't Unbreakable Vows. Death doesn't care about them.

But looking at Pansy's frozen face... I'm screaming at angels.

_Not her. Never her_ .

„The curse wasn't meant for her,“ I hear Healer Wesley tell Harry, but I don't turn around. „It was a rogue one from a duel at her club.“

I drown out their voices and carress the back of Pansy's hand. „I'll get you back,“ I say quietly, finger tracing patterns. „I promise.“

A hand settles on my back. I shake it off.

„Draco, darling.“

I can't stand it. Not right now. „I need a moment alone,“ I say without turning around.

Harry hesitates, hovers. But then he says: „I'll be right outside.“


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Last chapter!  
> Thanks to everyone who's made it this far.

I wait.

People are passing me by, some with obvious disfigurements, most with weary faces. Some are scared. Others are pissed and some just need a couple hours of sleep.

There are two girls sitting only a few metres from me, curled around each other. Long, black shiny hair a stark contrast to blond curls. They're holding each other and I wonder if they're here for someone else or if one of them is sick. Or maybe was.

It's been quite a while since I was here the last time. I think it was when Ron was attacked by a nasty vampire that didn't bother learning to control his blood lust. Ron got lucky and wasn't turned, but it still took a few days until the bites were healed and Ron stopped hallucinating.

I was here with Hermione, holding her hand. We've napped on each other's shoulders, afraid even when the Healers told us Ron was going to be fine.

Now I'm alone.

But maybe I shouldn't be. Maybe I should call Hermione.

I don't know what it is between her and Pansy, but... she'll probably want to know, won't she?

I want to ask Draco, but Draco is still with Pansy. I vowed I wouldn't be clingy. If he needs his space, I'll give it to him.

After another hour, I send Hermione a quick message, jiggling my leg, now somehow nervous, wondering if it was the right decision.

She is here sooner than I had anticipated, hair a mess, clearly thrown on the first clothes she got her hands on.

„Where is she?“ Hermione asks, eyes wild.

„In there. Draco's with her. He doesn't want to see anyone right now.“

Hermione, apparently, has only heard the first part, because without even hesitating, she pushes the door open.

„Hey,“ I shout-whisper after her.

A blond head turns. „What are you doing here?“

„How is she?“

I stand in the middle of the room, feeling a little dispensable.

„Paralyzed. As you can see.“

I step closer to Hermione, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. „Hermione, maybe we should...“

She shakes me off, like Draco did just hours ago.

„Is she...“

„They don't know,“ Draco says and suddenly, his composure is crumbling. He's shaking.

I bite my lip. Stretch out my hand.

I'm not surprised that Draco ignores it. I _am_ surprised when he walks straight into my arms, wrapping his arms around my waist. „Hold me,“ he says into my chest and I do, gathering him close, holding him tight.

Hermione looks away, at Pansy.

I'm not sure if it's necessary to be best friends with Hermione to recognize the way she's looking at her.

She looks at her like she looks at a new book, at Crookshanks, at an eighteen-year-old Ron.

„Do you want us to sit with you?“ I ask her, Draco still pressed against me, flooding my body with very ill-timed endorphines.

Hermione nods, but before we can settle around Pansy's bed, a caretaker approaches us.

„You need to wait outside. No visitors after nine p.m.“

„Can we stay in the hallway?“ Draco asks, finally pulling back.

The caretaker gives him a pretty dead look. „If that makes you feel better, suit yourself.“

We spend the night at St. Mungo's. I fall asleep somewhere around three in the morning, head on Draco's shoulder, his hand carding through my hair.

While I'm dozing, I think he's talking to Hermione, but maybe I'm just dreaming that.

I wake up at five, a Healer passing us, eyes blood shut. My neck is stiff, my limbs sore.

Draco looks like a ghost. Hermione is curled up on her chair, face covered by hair. She might be asleep, but it's hard to tell.

I straighten my spine and turn to Draco. „Do you want me to take the day off?“

Draco shakes his head. „No. I'll be fine.“

„Are you sure?“

Draco's eyes seem huge and almost translucent in this light. He nods. „Yes.“

I carress his cheek. Press a kiss to his forehead. „And you'll message me if you need me, right?“

Draco promises and I give him a last kiss on the lips before heading out, not quite sure how I am supposed to be teaching a class in less than three hours.

* * *

Pansy doesn't wake up today.

I spend the day at the hospital with Hermione. We don't talk very much. Mostly just drink coffee at Pansy's bed. From time to time, I'll talk to Pansy, tell her a story.

The Healers kick us out in the early afternoon, running another couple of tests that will hopefully bring some positive results.

It's about time some of those fucktards finds a cure.

Hermione and I don't talk about it, but we both know, the longer Pansy is in that state, the more severe the lasting damage will be.

I'm sitting cross-legged on my chair, ignoring the glares two wizards are sending my way, as Hermione approaches me with another two cups of coffee.

At this point, I'm sure I'm running solely on caffeine. I feel faintly dizzy, hands shaking. Probably mostly due to the fact I haven't eaten in... eighteen hours, but also because I'm tired enough to fall asleep on this chair.

„I've put some sugar in yours,“ Hermione says as she hands me my cup. I take it, while she is sitting down again, pulling one leg up.

„Why are you here?“ I ask, burning my lips on the coffee.

The Gryffindor does me the favour not to ask stupid questions like _what do you mean?_ Or say _Pansy and I are friends_.

She just stares into nothingness.

When she speaks, her voice is flat, but hoarse. „When Harry told me Pansy is in the hospital – that she might die... it felt like seeing Harry dead all over again. I needed to see her.“

I'm quiet. Wait for her to go on.

She takes her time with it. Five long minutes of sipping bad coffee before she speaks again.

„I know I haven't been fair to Pansy. I was scared.“

„Scared of what?“

„Scared to love her. I thought... we couldn't.“

„Why? Because she's not up to your standards?“

Hermione shrugs. „Yes, partly.“

I spin around so fast, I think my neck cracks. She gives me a stare, defiant and so emotional that it makes me uncomfortable.

„What did you expect, Draco? I'm working for the Ministry. Pansy is a stripper. Just because _I_ don't care, doesn't mean no one else will.“ She looks away. „My job is very important to me.“

„I know.“

„I just thought that it's ridiculous. Liking her, I mean. We're not cut out for that kind of relationship. To be honest, I'm not sure I even want a relationship. It's still so soon after Ron. I still miss him.“

I say nothing.

Everything she's telling me makes perfect sense. But I won't be her cheerleader.

My loyalties lie with Pansy and therefore, I don't care much about Hermione's feelings and reasoning. I care how she treats Pansy.

„You should go home, Draco. You look atrocious.“

„Thank you so much.“

„I'll stay.“

I don't want to leave, but I know that I'll fall asleep any moment, so I relent.

„Notify me if anything changes.“

Hermione nods and I head home, head spinning.

The next three days are hell.

I'm only really home to take naps and eat something from time to time. Once, I shower – only because Harry put his foot down and told me outright that I stank.

I don't talk much to Harry. I'm honestly either yelling at him or snuggling against his chest, shivering uncontrollably. Sometimes, I can't stand seeing anyone, not even him. Then, I go for long walks that always bring me back to the hospital.

I see Hermione there a lot. She goes to work every day, but leaves early and then sits on Pansy's bed. I saw her holding Pansy's hand once, but decided not to comment.

Once, Weasley drops by. I'm not sure if it's to check on Harry or Hermione.

He doesn't stay longer than twenty minutes, but before he leaves, he says, blue eyes incredibly tired: „I'm really sorry, Ferret. I know she means a lot to you.“

Before I can ask how he knows that, he's gone and I'm back to my numbness and telling Pansy about the past, when we were younger. Happier, for the most part.

I tell her about sleepovers and stealing her mum's makeup, about long nights and failed attempts at baking.

But with every minute that's passing, I lose a little bit more hope.

The Healers are concerned, it's obvious. Hermione stops talking. When she's drifting, not hearing anything, Harry scoops her up in his arms and squeezes until she's back again.

It's shortly before I'll be kicked out that I'm sitting on Pansy's bed, telling her that I'm thinking about getting a cat that can annoy Harry.

„I'm just kidding,“ I say, looking at her still face. „I should buy him flowers instead. Or some diamonds or a new broom. I've been so horrible to him, Pans. Even by my standards. I'm always yelling at him, because he keeps trying to console me, but he doesn't get it. How could he console me when you're here, in this fucking bed and you can't talk to me?“

I rub my face with both hands.

Fuck, I'm crying again. I'm crying so much lately. It's exhausting.

„You know I love you forever, right? I feel like, maybe I haven't said that enough lately. You know I don't like talking about feelings. At least not about mine. And I know that you have some anxiety because of Harry... Like that I'd forget you. I would never, Pans. You taught me what love _is_. I think I've never told you that. I think I've...“

I can't continue. Tears are blurring my vision.

Maybe that's why it takes me so long to notice. When I do, I scream. I shout for the Healers.

Pansy's right index finger is moving.

It takes the Healers another day until they manage to lift the curse.

Well, mostly.

Harry, Hermione and I are sitting around Pansy's bed. She's propped up against the white hospital pillow and two others – one from me, one from Hermione.

„You sure you're not fired?“ Pansy asks me, eyebrow arched. Her face is gaunt and her movements still shaky, but they're _there_.

„Oh, yes. I mean, it was a close call, but I've flirted my way out of it.“

I smirk. My boss has a little weakness for me and I've shamelessly exploited that after having thrown a fit when she tried to deny me another day off.

I'm back to work now, even though distracted most of the time.

Pansy swallows, the movement strained.

„You guys were a really depressing lot to be around. Do you really think it'd cheer me up to be silently stared at for hours?“

Hermione blushes, but I say: „I did _talk._ A lot. But I'm used to you running your mouth, so...“

„That's _not_ true. You talk just as much as I do.“

„No, I don't.“

Harry and Pansy exchange a look. I elbow Harry.

„How are you feeling?“ Hermione asks – for the second time in ten minutes. To be fair, Pansy didn't really answer the first time.

„How one is feeling when they can't move their legs,“ she says, voice strained.

We all fall quiet.

Pansy doesn't feel anything from the hips downward. Healer Wesley said it's possible that she'd regain the feeling – at least to a certain agree.

„I would be prepared though for the possibility that she might never walk again,“ she then said and I wasn't the only who needed a moment to process that.

„At least it's not your arms,“ Hermione says. „Then you probably couldn't use magic anymore.“

Pansy gives her a look that has Hermione shrinking in her seat.

„Aren't I lucky.“

Before I can come up with a new topic to cheer her up, we all notice a certain smell.

Pansy's fingers dig into the blanket. „I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.“

My heart breaks, but I smile at her.

„Harry, get me something sweet, would you? I haven't eaten since... seven a.m.“ Harry gets up, but I pull him in for the briefest kiss. „Thanks,“ I say against his lips and he smiles.

Proving to have one of his enlightened moments, he takes Hermione with him.

As soon as the two of them are gone, Pansy buries her face in her hands. I flick my wand. „Tergeo.“

The smell dissolves. Pansy's sheets and pants should be dry.

She peers at me from between her fingers. „How am I supposed to survive this?“

„You survived a war,“ I say. „I'm sure you'll survive peeing your bed once.“

„It wasn't just once.“

„I'm sure you can survive peeing your bed for the rest of your life, if that's how it is going to be.“

Pansy takes her hands down and gives me an agonized look.

It's been a long time since I have seen her this desperate. „Draco.“

„Pansy.“

I take her hands and squeeze. 

„What if I won't get better?“ Her voice is not much more than a whisper.

„Then we'll learn how to live with this.“

„ _I_ will.“

„ _We_ will.“

Pansy turns her head away. „Come on, Draco. It's not _we_.“

„Yes, it is. I know you've heard what I said to you about Harry when you were still paralyzed. I'm not going to repeat it because it's fucking embarrassing.“

Pansy pouts until I throw my hands up. „Okay, fine! I love you, idiot. It's you and I forever. Now can you stop?“

She grins brightly. „I'm not doing anything.“

I give her a look.

„Alright, alright. I'll stop.“

She pushes her hand toward me. When I take it, her fingers are having trouble closing around mine. But not as much as just a few hours ago.

„It'll be fine,“ I say. „I promise. You woke up. That's all that matters.“

„I wasn't asleep, you know. I could hear and see you guys. It was... fucking horrible.“

She pales. I don't even want to imagine what it must be like, being a prisoner in your own body.

„You're not anymore.“

I lean forward and kiss her cheek. She wraps her arms around my neck, clumsily.

„I'm scared, Draco,“ she says into my ear.

„I know.“

I hold her a little tighter, but not _too_ tight. She's so fragile right now. „But I'm here with you, Pans. You're not alone.“

She nods into my shoulder and then releases me.

„Call a caretaker for me, would you? Cleaning spells are great, but they have nothing on some fresh sheets.“

„Alright. I'll wait outside, yeah?“

She shakes her head. „No. You go home and on the way, you grab some flowers. Then you'll start cooking or do whatever romantic gesture you can think of. When Harry gets back here, I'll tell him to go home. You'll surprise him and kiss him and tell him what a great boyfriend he is.“

I stare at her, my brain slow for once. „What?“

Pansy gives me an indulgent smile. „Sweetheart, I know how you get when you're stressed. You even _told_ me you were being an arsehole to Harry. So it must have been bad.“

I bite my lip. „It was.“

„So make it up.“

„But...“

„I'll be fine. Promise. Just come back tomorrow, okay?“

„I will. Straight after work.“

Pansy smiles at me and smoothes her hair down. „Alright then.“

* * *

I get home worried. Not _really_ worried – if Pansy thought there was something wrong with Draco, she wouldn't have been so zen about sending me home.

But it's still weird that Draco would leave her side, now that she's finally awake.

Also, Draco has been rather... unpredictable lately, so it's best to be prepared for anything.

„I'm home,“ I say, not quite shout, as I close the door behind me.

I make it into the living room before Draco heads out of the kitchen. 

He's holding a bouquet of flowers.

„Draco? Everything alright?“

He's smiling at me, blushing. „Those are for you.“

„You bought me flowers?“ I take the bouquet, staring at him like he was one of Hagrid's strange creatures (one of the cuter ones though).

„Yes. It's a thank you. For putting up with me throughout those last days. I know I've been hellish.“

He looks at the ground and something warm and gooey bubbles in my chest.

„I've had worse,“ I say, smiling. I put the bouquet down on the sofa.

Draco looks up at me and steps into my arms. „Still. Thank you, Harry. And I'm sorry.“

I put a hand to his face, carress his smooth skin. There are still shadows under his eyes, but the grey is glowing again.

„Don't apologize. You were worried about Pansy. I get that.“

„Yes, but I shouldn't always let it out on you when I'm stressed. I promise I'll work on that.“

I kiss him and his arms pull me closer. We're standing in our living room, snogging, flowers forgotten on the sofa.

„I love you,“ I say, forehead resting against his.

„I love you, too.“ He brushes his nose against mine and I'm instantly a fool for him.

I'd have lifted him and carried him to the bed that moment, if I wasn't distracted.

„Um... Draco? Do you smell that?“

Draco takes a breath and his eyes widen in horror. „Oh, _fuck_.“

He's racing back to the kitchen and I follow him, toward the quickly intensifying smell of something burned.

„Fuck me,“ Draco swears, opening the oven. Thick clouds of smoke make me cough.

With a flick of my wand, I turn the oven off and open the window.

Draco puts something so burned that I can't identify it anymore on the kitchen counter. He looks absolutely devastated.

„You cooked for me?“

The Slytherin throws me a wry look. „More like tried to.“

He squeaks when I pick him up and attack his neck and shoulders with kisses. He's laughing and shrieking. „Put me down, Potter!“

„How are you so fucking adorable?“

A stinging hex forces me to let go of Draco. The Slytherin glares at me.

„I am not adorable.“

I grin and kiss him. „Not at all,“ I whisper against his lips, not able to keep the teasing tone out of my voice.

„Oh, fuck you, arsehole.“

With that, I'm pulled out of the kitchen and to the sofa.

I don't think the flowers are going to survive it as I wipe them to the floor, probably stepping on them in my haste to undress, but it's fine.

I don't need flowers when I have Draco right here with me.

* * *

When I tell Harry that I'll move back in with Pansy, we have a fight.

Harry says I'm leaving him, that I'm pussying out because things got too intense and I got cold feet. I say he's missing the point. That this has nothing to do with him.

„I know this must sound strange to you, but the universe does not revolve around you,“ I shouted.

Because I was scared.

Still the old coward, unable to face my fears.

Harry took off and I broke down, devastated. Hating myself for not being able to explain it to him like a normal person would.

Pissed at him for being so insecure, even though we both _know_ what we mean to each other.

It's a truth, a fact. The sky is blue. Climate change is real. Draco loves Harry, Harry loves Draco.

Before I can spiral down too deep into analyzing why it is that we have such major trust issues, Harry returns.

Walks in and kisses my face. He tells me he loves me. That he is sorry.

I say I'm sorry, too.

„I know you have to move in with her because she needs you right now,“ Harry says.

We kiss and I assure him that we'll see each other every day, that I love him. Need him. Want him always.

We have sex in his bedroom, slow and sweet, and then he helps me pack my few things and bring them back to Pansy's.

He picks Pansy up from the hospital with me. I'm pushing the wheelchair. Harry makes conversation.

As soon as we're more or less settled in our flat, I kiss Harry goodbye, promising I'll see him tomorrow.

The first few months are rough. As much as I hate it, I have to admit that I wouldn't have made it alone.

I'm working full time and during the first couple of weeks, Pansy pretty much is a full time job herself.

But whenever I feel like my head is going to explode, when I know I won't be able to be there for Pansy the way I should be, Hermione drops by and takes my place.

Harry takes me on fancy dates whenever he manages to catch me for longer than two hours. I don't really feel like I deserve being spoiled like that, but of course, I love it.

Hermione is helping Pansy looking for a new job, which apparently requires a lot of late-night meetings. And sleepovers. And breakfasts.

I don't mind. It's time I get to spend with Harry.

The way to Healer Wesley's office is imprinted into my muscle memory, so I can concentrate on Pansy.

She's gotten very good at magically wheeling her wheel chair. It does require quite a bit of concentration though and sometimes, she switches to doing it manually.

Whenever that happens, I jump in, wanting to grab the handles and push her.

Last time I did that, Pansy got really mad at me.

„I'm not a fucking infant, Draco. I can get around by myself.“

At first, I didn't quite get it. Pansy and I are so close, know each other so well, have seen each other at so many horrible lows, I didn't think her pride would be wounded if I offered help.

But I'm learning that, while Pansy is still Pansy, she is now Pansy with a disability and I know nothing about having one. There are a few new things to learn about her.

So now I only wheel her when she asks me to.

„Are you nervous?“ I ask her as we approach the white door, dodging two witches levitating past us.

„Yes, obviously.“

„Me too.“

I say no more, because there is nothing to say. I just squeeze Pansy's shoulder, then knock on the door.

„Come in,“ Wesley's voice beckons.

I open the door for Pansy and then follow her inside.

Wesley's office is plain and elegant in a very down-to-earth, functional way. She's sitting behind her desk, beckoning us closer.

„Miss Parkinson, how are you feeling today?“

It's been four months since Pansy shook off the paralyzation. Eight times the same question. We've been here every other week.

„Great.“

Always the same answer, too.

Wesley just lifts one brow. I think I like her.

„So, I've looked at the results of our last tests,“ she says, as always coming straight to the point. „I'm afraid that I have to confirm our assumptions. You will not regain control over your legs. The sensitivity might improve further, but you won't be walking again.“

Wesley's dark eyes aren't dripping with sympathy, but they're not cold either. „I'm sorry.“

Pansy looks at her lap. „Alright. Anything else?“

„Do you have any questions?“

„I don't.“

„Well, then I'll see you in four weeks for a routine check-up.“

If Pansy weren't here, I'd corner Wesley and pry for more information. If she's _certain_ Pansy won't walk again. If there's not maybe a chance.

But Pansy is here and she clearly just wants to leave, so I follow her, already practicing not to show any signs of pity.

There is little Pansy hates more.

I last until outside the hospital. Then I can't keep my mouth shut anymore.

„Pans, I'm really sorry.“

„Yeah, well. At least I'm not pissing myself any longer.“

Her tone is bitter.

It only took one week for her to regain control over her bladder, but let's just say I've become very well-versed in cleaning spells of all sorts. I have also built a strong tolerance for the rather disgusting stink of piss. I honestly hardly notice it anymore.

„Are we doing all that optimistic shit now?“

Pansy smiles a little. „I could scream, too, if you'd like that better.“

„It's whatever you want, darling.“

She sighs. „I just want to go home.“

Back in our flat, Pansy and I are talking about this and that. It's almost normal.

Almost.

Only long after dinner, when I'm half asleep on my bed, Pansy says something in a different tone of voice.

„I'm scared to lose you.“

I open my eyes, but don't move. „Then you're stupid.“

She's still sitting in her wheel chair, not yet having moved to the bed. I can levitate her there in a second, but Pansy usually prefers getting in on her own. Which can sometimes take a while.

„You won't lose me,“ I say, eyes falling shut again.

„I took Harry away from you. You're stuck with me in this shitty flat.“

I blink at her and smile lazily. „You can't take Harry away. He's a Gryffindor. They keep coming back.“

I stretch my back and roll to my side, looking at her. „And there are worse things than being stuck with you.“

Pansy arches a brow at me. „Oh, really? Like what?“

„Like getting stuck with a banjee?“

A stinging hex has me flinching. „Arsehole.“

But she's almost smiling.

„Stop overthinking and get into bed. I'm tired.“

Pansy gives me a long look. Then she does as I asked her to.

I'm shivering in my jumper, really just wanting to get back to Harry's flat and curl up with him, but the Gryffindor is pulling on my hand, pulling me mercilessly through the cold.

„At least _tell_ me what idiocy you have planned,“ I whine.

Pansy has successfully mastered going grocery shopping by herself, getting a job interview and rediscovered wanking the second the feeling returned into her bits.

In other words, I'm the princess in our relationship again and I seem to have some problems getting out of that role with Harry, too.

He doesn't seem to mind too much.

„Okay, we're here.“

I bump into Harry as he abruptly stops walking, coming to a halt in front of a, at least to my eyes, completely random house in the middle of the street.

„Where is _here_ , exactly?“

Harry grins at me. „Wait a sec. We're a bit early.“

I glare at him. „Potter, I'm fucking freezing.“

Harry rolls his eyes, smiling. „You're a drama queen, is what you are.“ He pulls me closer, kissing the top of my head.

„You love it,“ I say, voice muffled in his jacket.

Harry hums.

Just when I'm about to demand an explaination for why we're standing here, out in the cold, a wizard approaches us.

He's smiling, the kind of professional smile most of my father's aqucaintances had perfected.

„Mr. Potter, a pleasure to see you again.“

Harry nods at him and I pull away from him so he can shake the man's hand.

The wizard is neither tall nor short, his suit flattering and clearly expensive. If I had to take a guess, I'd say his ethnicity is Korean.

„That's my boyfriend Draco,“ Harry says and the wizard's smile doesn't falter.

„Very nice to meet you, Draco. I'm Eugene Jackson.“

I shake his hand, utterly confused.

„Please, follow me,“ he says and Harry is grinning smugly as I'm staring at him, Jackson leading us into the house.

When Jackson unlocks the door to an empty flat, not furnished, I know what's going on.

My chest tightens.

I stop Harry by taking his hand. 

„Harry, you know I can't. I _want_ to. But Pansy shouldn't be living on her own. Not yet.“

Harry raises his brows and gives me a quick, chaste kiss. „Patience, love. You'll see.“

Still confused and a little pissed, I play along while Jackson gives us a tour.

It's a nice flat. Big and bright with an exquisite bathroom.

I'm sure one rent equals what I'm making in a year.

„Alright, if you like, I'll show you the second one now.“

Jackson is still smiling and I try catching Harry's gaze. But Harry doesn't meet it, just holds my hand as we follow Jackson into _another_ flat, this one a little smaller, but still beautiful. It's right across the hallway.

After the second tour, Jackson folds his hands.

I manage to keep quiet while Harry thanks him for the tour and says he'll contact Jackson soon.

Only when Jackson is gone, I turn to Harry, brows drawn.

„What the fuck, Harry?“

The Gryffindor blinks at me. „I know that you don't want to leave Pansy alone, so I thought... Wouldn't this be perfect? We'd be next door neighbours. You could sleep over anytime you want to. We could all have dinner together. And when we want privacy, we'll have that too.“

I give him a look, arms hanging down. „Harry, you know that I can never afford this. And neither can Pansy.“

„I'd rent the big one. You two together could rent the small one. I'm sure it'll be fine. Also... don't tell Pansy, okay? But I really think that she won't be living alone for much longer.“

„She's not living alone. _I_ am living with her.“

„Yeah, yeah. But I mean...“

„You mean Hermione wants to move in with her?“

I wasn't even aware the two of them are official. In love, certainly. But those are different things.

„Not right now. But soon, yeah.“

„But she hasn't talked to Pansy about it.“

„Yet. She's talked to me though and I know her. I'm giving it two months.“

I bite my lip and look down.

„I thought you'd be happy,“ Harry says, quietly.

„I...“ I look up at him. „I don't know. I don't like the idea of you sponsoring us. We're not charity cases.“

I can tell that Harry wants to roll his eyes, but to his credit, he doesn't.

„You wouldn't be. As I said, it's not like I'll just pay everything. I _would_ and I don't think it would be wrong in any way, but I know you don't like that. So.“

I haven't paid rent when I was living with Harry in his current flat, either. I'm not sure why this feels so different.

Maybe because that had always been _his_ flat, first. But this wouldn't be. This would be _ours_.

„I... Can you give me some time to think about it? And talk to Pansy?“

Harry smiles, if still a little wary. He had apparently expected a slightly different reaction. „Of course. Take your time.“

It's quite telling that the first thing Pansy says after I've told her the news, is: „Wait, Hermione wants to move in with me?“

„ _Don't_ tell Harry I told you that.“

„But he's sure?“

I shrug. „He seemed to be.“

Pansy's mouth is open. „But...“ She trails off and when it becomes clear that she won't finish that sentence, I move on.

„I just feel like it's too much.“

„Could we afford the small flat together?“

„Yes, though it's more expensive than this one.“

„Then I don't see the problem.“

„The problem is, I wouldn't live there. I'd live with Harry.“

Pansy summons her cup of coffee and bats her lashes at me. „Um, I'm pretty sure it'd be fifty-fifty.“

That makes me smile. „Probably.“

„So it wouldn't really be different than it is now, right?“

„I guess.“

I bite my lip. Our eyes are locked. „What if we break up? Then we'd live in the same building!“

Pansy's brows soar toward her hairline. „Are you planning on breaking up with him?“

„Of course not, but...“

„Then don't go there.“

„But -“

„Draco, if everyone would argue like you do, no couple would ever move in together.“

I think about that for a moment and realize she's right, so I shut my mouth.

„Sometimes, things turn out good, Drake,“ Pansy says, tiny smile on her lips. „Not often, but it _does_ happen.“

„I don't trust _good_ ,“ I say, but I'm smiling now, too.

* * *

It all happens faster than I thought it would.

In the end, it takes us only a month to move into our new flats – Draco and I in the big one, Pansy in the small one. 

My boyfriend spends the first night with me, alternating between giddy excitement and concern that makes him clipped and snappy. Only when we go to bed and I sink into him from behind, mouth on his neck, does he finally stop overthinking.

The next two nights, I have to spend alone. Draco is more or less the whole day at Pansy's, helping her get settled.

During the next weeks, we find a rhythm that works for all of us – Draco spending most nights at mine. Some at Pansy's.

When Hermione starts sleeping over at Pansy's, I get more of Draco and we start having breakfast together every weekend – all four of us.

Without me even realizing it, Hermione has inofficially moved in.

I invite Ron at least once a week, but he rarely shows. Mostly, we hang out at his flat. Not really talking about Hermione, even though she's the reason he's never at mine.

It's the middle of the night when Draco wakes me up.

The sheets are cool on my skin and I try snuggling closer to him, pulling him in and drifting off again.

„Harry.“ Draco is a pale shadow, glowing in the dark. His nose brushes against my neck.

I grunt.

„ _Harry_.“

„You okay?“ I try my best to shake off the drowsiness.

Lit only by the faint moonlight shining through the window, Draco props himself up. His eyes are huge grey orbs. Smoke instead of storm today.

„Do you really love me?“

I close my eyes again. Smile.

„Yes. I really love you.“

„Always?“

My hand runs over his hair. I pull him close again, until he settles his head back on my chest. 

„You hear that?“

Draco is very quiet, ear over my heart.

„Yes.“

„For you.“

I can feel his fingers pressing against my skin and his body relaxing.

„Now go back to sleep, stupid. I'm knackered.“

„Alright.“

I'm half asleep again when I hear Draco say: „You're my Always, Harry.“

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments make my day! I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


End file.
